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THE LONE EANGH. 


By CMT. MAYNE REID. 


CAUTION TO PUBLISHERS, 


fS 


Publishei-s fp the United States are cautioned against publishing. 



**Thj: Lonk Ranch.” 


, Tlie story -was entered according to act of Congress, on the seven- 
tecniih day of April, 1871, by Street. & Smith, in the office of the 
LioroJfian of Congress. Wa-shingtoh, D. C. 

Shdold any person or persons,, without pennissiou of Street & 
Siuirh, publish the story designatf/d, “ Thk Lone Ranch,” or aiiy 
part of it, or they will be pjfOliecutcd to the utmost extent of thd 
law. •; I 

A i pended a copy of ':i*e Rev^eipt which gives to Street & Smith 
tlie ex ght to publish the story in the United States : 



At7» Mai-'h i 8 yo. 


Reedved of Messrs. Street Smith iJic sum .y -* * * * ♦ thousand ■ 
dollars, full payment for story (and copyright) of '‘■Lone \ 

Raruh:^ MAYNE REID. 




THE LONE EANCH 


A Novel. 


CAPT. MAYNE REID, 

Ilk 

AUTHOR OF 

“The Scalp-Hunters,” “The Headless Horseman/* 
“Rangers and Regulators,” “Osceola, the 
Semimole,” “The Wild Huntress,” 

“The Quadroon,” Etc. 



NEW YORK: 

G. Car let on & Co.y Publishers, 


STEEET k SMITH, New Tore Weeely. 

MDCCCLXXXIV. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, 
Bt Street & Smith, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


To 


The Readers Oe The 

NEW YORK WEEK Y, 

Who, for twenty-five years, have stood faithfully by us, 
cheering us in our labors, and bidding us Godspeed; 

TO WHOM OUR pet JOURNAL HAS BECOME A HOUSE- 
HOLD WORD, AND WITHOUT WHOSE AID WE 
COULD HAVE ACCOMPLISHED NOTH- 
ING, THIS VOLUME IS RE- 
SPECTFULLY DEDI- 
C A T E D 

By the Publishers, 

STREET & SMITH. 










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CONTENTS 


CHAFTER. page. 

I. — A Street Spectacle 9 

II. — A Friend in Need 15 

ni. — The Colonel Commandant 20 

IV. — Surrounded 26 

V. — Knife, Pistol, and Hatchet 35 

VI. — Through the Smoke 42 

VIL — The Pursuers at Bay 49 

VIII. — In Darkness 36 

IX. — A Savage Jollification 65 

X. — A Living Tomb 71 

XI. — Off at Last 78 

XII. — Departure of the Plunderers 83 

XIII. — A Strange Transformation 89 

XIV. — The “ Staked Plain. ” 97 

XV. — A Liliputian Forest 103 

XVI. — Struggling Among the Sages 108 

XVII. — A Huntress 114 

XVIII.— “ Down, Dogs!” 120 

XIX. — An Oasis T 127 

XX. — A Comrade “Gone Under.” 132 

XXI. — A Sweet Awakening 139 

XXIL — Don Valerian 146 

XXIII. — The Land of the Lex Talionis 152 

XXIV. — The Refugees 158 

XXV. — Convalescent 167 

XXVI. — A Stricken Giant 172 

XXVII.-»A Proposal by Proxy 178 

XXVIII. — A Discontented Scoundrel 184 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

XXIX. — In Confidence 19 1 

XXX. — A Mysterious Dispatch 198 

XXXI. — The Intercepted Letter 204 

XXXII. — Brother and Sister 210 

XXXIII. — Love and Duty 214 

XXXIV. — Returning From a Raid 220 

XXXV.— A Coup 227 

XXXVI. — The Forced Confession 232 

XXXVII. — Soldiers on the March 240 

XXXVIII.— A Halt 248 

XXXIX. — Stalking the Stalkers 254 

XL. — The Song Interrupted 260 

XLI. — A Night of Anxiety 266 

XLII. — A Temptation Resisted 270 

XLin. — A Straggler Picked Up 275 

XLI V.— Old Acquaintances 281 

XLV. — Further Cross-Questioning 287 

XLVL— A “Norther.” 292 

XLVII. — A Rush for Shelter 300 

XLVIII.— The Split Trail 307 

XLIX. — A Sylvan Scene 314 

L. — A Fiendish Scheme 321 

LI. — Awaiting the Assasins 327 

LII. — A Singular Dispatch 334 

LIII. — A New Determination 340 

LIV. — Conditions of Freedom 346 

LV. — A Sister Sorely Tried 353 

LVI. — The Last Appeal 360 

LVII. — The Execution Ordered 366 

LVIII.— The Hand of God 371 

LIX. — A Rescue 376 

LX. — The Chase 382 

LXI. — A New Mode of Hanging 387 

LXII — ^What Came After 394 


THE" LONE KANCH. 




CI^A^PTER I 


A »TR3RET SPECTACLK 


In tke city of Chihiiahna — metropolis of ttic rjorthem 
provinces of Mexico — for the niost pan built of mud, 
standing in the midst of vast, treeless piaitis cveriopped by 
baldj porphvmritic mountains — plains with a population 
sparse as the timber — lies the first scene of our story. 

Less than twenty thousand souls dwell within the walls 
of tlie North Mex’^n metropolis; and in the country 
surrounding it " like limited number. > 

Once they were thicker on the soil ; but the tomahaw’k 
of UiC Comanche and the spear of the Apache have 
tbnjned od the population, until country houses stand at 
magnificent distances apart, with more than an equat 
number of rains between. 

But a few years ngo, a stranger (Mitering ib* gates would 
have seen cveihead, and whisked to and fr-.^ by the wind, 
some scoie of cbjecL sirndar to one another, reji^mbiing 


lO A STREET STJSCTACTE. 

tnfis or tresses of hair. It was long, trailing, and black, 
as if taken from the mane or tail of horses. But it came 
not thence, and the patches of skin tb.at served to keep 
the bunches together had been s/f ipptd from human skulls. 

The/ were scalps, the scalps of Indians, showing that 
the Comanches and Apaches had not had it ail their own 
way. Beside them could be seen other objects, of auricie- 
shape, set in rows or circles, like festoons of red peppers 
hung- up for desiccation. No doubt they had drawn tears 
from the eyes of those whose heads had furnished them, 
for they were human ears. 

These ghastly souvenirs were the bounty-warrants of a 
band whose deeds have been already chronicled by this 
pen. They were the trophies of the Scalp Hunters." 

They were there less than a quarter of a century ago, 
waving in the dry wind that sweeps over the plams of 
Chihuahua. For aught the writer knows, they may be 
thtre still, or it not the same, others replacing or supple- 
menting them, of like gory record. 

It is not with the ‘^Scalp-Hunters'' we have now to 
do — only with the city of Chihuahua. And not much 
with it, either. A single scene occurring in its streets is 
all of Chihiiahuau life depicted in our tale. 

It was the spectacle of a religious procession, i thing 
fai from uncommon iu Chihuahua, or any ocher iViexican 
town; so common, indeed, that at least weehi. the like 
may be witnessed. This was one- of the grandest — repre- 
senting the SI017 of the crucifixion. Citizens of all cias^es 


A STSEJXT SPECTACLE. ' ,-1 

assisted at the ceremony, the soldiers, alsQ, taking part in 
it The padreSj of course, both secular and regular, were 
its chief supporters and propagators. ' ‘ 

There is, or was then, an American hotel in GHihuahua, 
cr, at least, one approaching the Anjerican fashion, it 
was a mere posqda. Among, its guests was a stranger,' 
alike to the town and couritr)'. His dress, figure, and 
facial appearance bespoke ifim an American ; and, bv the 
same tokens, it could be '.told- that he ^belonged to the* 
Southern States—at all events, those that lie west of the 
'Alleghanies. 

Pie was, in truth, a Kentuckian, but so far from repre - 
senting the ti'pe, rough and stalwart, usually associated 
with ihe idea of ‘^old Kcntuck," he was 'a man of 
medium size, with a build^com pa t able to that of the Bci 
videre Apollo. It was a figure tersely set, with limbs well 
knitted; a handsome face and features’ of amiable cast at 
the same time expressed confidence and courage. A costly 
Guayaquiil hat upon b’s head, and coat to correspond,, 
bespoke him respectable; his -attire, pry claimed him a man p 
of leisure ; his air and bearing wem unmistakable ; they ‘ 
could /.e;/ belong to a gentleman. ’• 

Why he 7/.1S in Chihuahua, or whence he had coipe co 
it, no one seemed to know o.v inquuc. Enough that he 
V'as there, and gazing- upon the spectacular profe;>sior' r.3 
ic filed past tlie iittlc hotel . 

He was regarding it "with no eye of w'onderment. / In- . 
all likelihood be bad seen such before. Ho could •aot 


' 

m .A STREET SPECl'ACl.E. 

have travelc'd far through Mexico withoui aitnussing some 
ceremony cf a similar kind. 

Whether interested in this one or no, he was soon noti- 
hed that he was not regarding it in the manner proper, 
customary to the coiintr}’. Standing half behind one of 
the pillars at the porch of the posada,i:;he had not thougiit 
it necessary to take off his hat. Perhaps placed in a more 
conspicuous position he would have done tliis. lie was 
not the soit of man to seek notoriety by an exhibition of 
brr.vado; und though a Protestant of the rresbytenan 
creed, he would have shrv uk from offending the slightest 
fienubilities of any one belonging to an opposite faith. 

Thai his Panama hat c^tiil remained upon his bead arose, 
at first, from shnple forgetfulness that i: was there — inside 
the porrico, and partially scrccued by one of it- pillaio, it 
had not occurred to him to uncover. 

He now saw scowling looks., and heard low growlings 
from the crowd as it swayed slowly past. He icnew 
emough to be conscious of what these meant; but he felt 
at the same time disinclined to humiliare himself by a too 
facile complianco. A proud American, in the midst cf a 
people he bad learned to despise — no wonder he should 
feel a little defiant and a good deal exasperated. Enough 
.jdelding he thought to withdraw buck behind the pillar, 
which h*," did. 

h was too late The keen eye of a fanatic had been 
upon h..m, one who appeared to have authority for mert.nr 
out clu-stisemeni. An officer, bear-led a.Dd giandlv be- 




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' A STKEFT SrECl^ACLE, 33 

•Jizened* riding ? , ihe licad of a troop of lancers, quickly’ 
wrenched his horse froin the line of marefe' and spurred 
tovrard dre porch of the posada. In another instant his 
bared blade was waving over tiie baited head of the Ken- 
tuckian. 

Gringo/ alto d sombrero / Ahazol a susrodiUas (Oif 
witli your hat, greenhorn ! Down upon your knees !) were 
the words that came hissing from between the mustached 
lips of the lancer. As they failed to get cempiianee, they 
weie insianlly followed by a blow from the blade of the 
saber. It was struck sideways, but with suIBcicnt sleight 
and force to i?end the bat whirling to the pavement, and 
ins wearer reeling against the vrail. 

It was but the stagger oi a sudden and little expected 
surprise. In another instant the Kentackian had drawn a 
revolver, and in another its bullet 'vvould have been 
through the brain of the swaggering assassin, when a 
inan, rushing fror behind, laid bold of his aim and 
restrained him, " 

At frst he thought it was the 'act of a second enemy; 
but in a moment he knew it to be the behavior of a 
friend — at the least a ppxifk'ator,. resolved upon seeing fait 

p.'c.y. 

“ You are wrong, Captain Uraga,'* interrupted the one 
who had intermeddled, "' rhis gentieraan is a stranger in 
the countjy, and not acquainted ivith our customs. '’ 

*•' A heretic, then ! It is time he should be taught them, 
Wiiat right, Colonel Miranda, have you to interl^ie?" • 


H 


A :y7'2?E£T SPECTACLE. 


“The rk^bt, Ir ^ of humanity; second, of hcspitaiUy ; 
and third, that I am your superior officer/' 

“Bahl you mistake yourself. Remember, senor, you 
arc not in )our own district. If it was in Ilew Merko, f 
might take commands from you. This is Chihuaima." 

“Chih lahua or not, you shall bo made answerabie for 
this outrage. Don’t imagine, cavallero, that your patron, 
Santa Anna, is now President of the Republv., with power 
to indorse such conduct as yours,. You seem to ffiiget. 
Captain Uraga, that 3 'ou carry your commission under a 
new regime — one that holds itself responsible not onl;.' to 
fueJ laws,, but to the code of decency — responsible, also, 
for mtemational courtesy to the great governraent of which 
I believe this gentleman is a citizen,” 

“Bab,]’’ once more exclairaed the bedizened bully. 
“Preach to ears ihat have time to listen. 1 sha'n't stop 
the procession either for you or your Yankee prokgeP 
With this the captain of hneers strui.k the spurs into 
bis horse, and once more placed hin^self at the iiead of 
his troop. The crowd collected by tnis iir.plejisant epi- 
sode soon scattered away — the sooner that tne sirangs 
gcntleraari dong with his generous defender :u once 
disappeared from the porch by g- .-ing msidc the door. 

The .vrocession was still passing, and its frresist.bie 
a/ra./rions owept the listeners along in its current, most 
of ih' m scon forgetting a scene that in. a land wiiere “law 
fecanes not life” is of toe common occurrence to be long 
thought of or remembered. . — ^ 


A FRIEND IN NEED. 


^5 


'I 


CHAPTER II. 

A FRIEND IN NEED. 

The young Kentuckian was half-frenzied by the insult. 
The proud blood of his republican citizenship was boiling 
within his veins. What was he to do.? 

In the agony of his dilemma he put the question to the 
gentleman who had no doubt restrained him from com- 
mitting manslaughter. The latter was an entire stranger 
to him, never seen before. He was a man of less than 
thirty years of age, wearing a broad-brimmed hat upon his 
head, a jacket, and slashed velveteen trousers, and scarf- 
in short, the costume of the country. Still there was a 
military bearing about him that corresponded to the title 
by which the swaggerer addressed 'him. 

“Cavallero,"’ he said, in reply, “if your own safety be 
of any consequence to you, I should advise you to take 
- -^---ther notice of the matter.” 

udon me, senor ; but not f ail the world would I 
your advice — not for my life. I am an American. 

■ not take blows, without giving something in return, 
t have redress. ” 

’you seek it by the law, I ma-- a: well say that here 
on't have much chance of finding it,” 


l6 A FRIEND IN NEED. 

know that. The law — I did not thitik Of such a 
thing. I am a gentleman ; I suppose that Captain Uraga 
pretends to be the same. He cannot refuse to meet me. 

“He may, and very likely woul^ on the plea of your 
being a Stranger — only a rude barbarian, a Tejano, as he 
would put it.” 

“ Oh, Heaven I What am I to do?” 

“Well, cavallero, if you are determined on a duel, I 
think I can arrange it. I feel myself a little compromised 
by my meddling, as he stytes it, and if you will accept 
of a stranger for a second, I can answer for it he will not 
refuse me.” V 

“Colonel Miranda — your name, I believe — need I at- 
tempt to express my thanks for so much generosity? I 
cannot; I could not. You have removed the very diffi- 
culty that was troubling me, for I am not only a stranger 
to you, but to every one around me. I reached Chi- 
huahua only yesterday, and do not know a soul in the 
place. ” 

“Enough; you shall not be disappointed for the want 
of a friend. As a preliminary, may I ask if you have skill 
in the use of the sword ?” 

“Sufficient to risk my life upon it.” 

“I put the question because that is the weapon your 
adversary will be certain to choose. You being the chal- 
lenger, of course he has the choice ; and he will insist on 
it for a reason that may perhaps amuse you. It is that 
a Mexican gentleman believes you Americans som . 


A FRIEND IN NEED. 


17 


awkward in the handling of the sword, though we know 
you to be adepts in the use of the pistol. I know Cap- 
tain Gil Uraga to be as thorough a poltroon as ever wore 
epaulettes ; but he will have to meet you on my account, 
and he would perhaps have done so anyhow, 'trusting to 
the probability of your not being a skilled swordsman.” 

*‘In that, Colonel Miranda, he m<ty perhaps be dis- 
appointed. ” 

^‘1 am glad to hear it; and nbv jr -ue to receive your 
directions. I am ready to act. ” 

The directions were given, and w’^^hin two hours after 
Captain Gil Uraga of the Lancers was in receipt of a chal- 
lenge from the young American, Frank Hamersley, Colonel 
Miranda being its bearer. 

With such a voucher the swaggerer could not do other- 
wise than accept it; which he did with the more confi- 
dence for the very reason Miranda had made known. 
Tejano — a barbarian!” was the reflection; *‘what should 
he know of the sword ?” 

And swords were the weapons chosen. 

Had the captain of the Mexican lancers been told that 
his Kentuckian adversary had spent a portion of his life 
among the Creoles of New Orleans, he would have had 
less truSt in the chances likely to favor him. We need 
not describe the duel, which, if it differed from other 
encounters of the kind, it was by being on both sides 
bitter and of deadly intent. 

Suffice it to say, that the young Kentuckian displayed 


l8 A FRIEND IN NEED, 

a skill in swordsmanship sufficient to disarrange several 
of Gil Uraga’s front teeth, and make an ugly hole in his 
cheek. The lancer had left just enough command over 
his mouth to enable him to cry enough !” and the affair 
was over. 

* * ♦ * < * 

“Senor Hamersley,” said the gentleman who had so 
effectively befriended him, after they had returned from 
the encounter, and were drinking a bottle of the best 
wine in the hotel, ^‘may I ask where you are going from 
here r 

intend going north— to Santa Fe, in New Mexico. 
Thence to the United States, along with one of the return 
caravans. ” 

“When did you propose starting?” 

^“As to that, I am not tied to time. The party with 
whom I am to cross the plains will not be leaving Santa 
Fe for six weeks to come. I can get there by a month’s 
travel, I suppose.” 

“Less than that. It is not a question of how soon you 
can get there, but of when you may leave here. I advise 
you to start at once. I admit that two days is but a short 
time to see the sights even of Chihuahua ; but you have 
seen some of them— enough, I should say. If you take 
my advice, cavallero, you will let it content you, and kick 
the Chihuahua dust from your feet before another 
passes over your head.” 

“But why, Colonel Miranda?” 


^9 


yi LV 

•'. ‘'Beca'iiSG as long as you rcnia'in y m ^/iil be in 
danger of losing vour life. You don't i;no?/ the- chaixic Vjr 
of the man with whom you iiave crossed swords. I do. 
Altaougb v-^earing the lipiform of an officer in our army, 
he IS simply a cut-throat and robber. He deems himsfelf 
no little of a lady-killer; you have .spoiled his physio^^- 
nomy for life, and, depend upuii it, as long as life lasts 
he will not be the man to forgive you. I have also comd^ 
I 'in L-r a share of l^iis spite ; and it behooves both of us to 
I' beware of him. Daggers can here bo purchased by the 

I score, and the arms of assassws to use them. Novr do ^'ou 

understand me?'^ 

I '‘I do. But how do you counsel me to act?’' 

? “As T intend doing myself — leave Chihuahua thivS very 

J; day. Our roads are tlie same as far as .libuquerque, 

■; where you will bo out of reach of this little danger. T am 

fctiu.:^ tbiiher from the C.ty of Mexico, where Tve had 
business wiih the government. I have an escort, and if 
you choose to avail yourself of it, you are welcome to its 
prelection. ” 

1 hai same afternoon, two hours before the going down 
cf the sun, a party of horsemen, wearing the uniform of 
Mexican dragoons of the lire, hfi <^hihiiahaa, and to^-k 
the northern road leading to Santa Fe. CoionrA Miranda, 
his ranch ero dre.s3 oharrged for the Dligue umfonii of a 
-cavalry officer, rode at the- he-id, and by his side the 
young Arnericau he had so generoasly and gallantly be- 
friended. 


?0 the coiomi COM^IkNDAHT. 


I 


CHAPTER HI 

i! * 

THX COLON.iL CO:,tM>.NDANT. 

Sis weks have elapsed since the day of the 'duel at 
Chiauahua. Two men are standing on the terrcced roof 
of fi large and massive dwelling-house, close to tr*e town 
of Albuquerque, whose church-towexs arc just visible 
through the fob age of trees .hat shade and surround the 
dwelling. 

They are Colonel Miranda and his Ken^uckjan friend. 

The hospitality of the generous Mexican had not ceased 
with the termination of their journey from' Chihuahua^ 
After three w'ceks of toilsome travel, iricluding the traverse 
of the famed x rA Man's Journey,” he was continuing 
to extend it in his oxm house and his ow» district — of 
which he was the rniiitary ccunmandant. Albuquerque 
was then occupied by a considerable body of troops, sta- 
tioned there for defense against Indian incursions, at the 
time frequent and mncii feared. 

The house on which the two men stood was that in 
which Colonel Miranda had been born — the patrimonial 
mansion of a large estate that extended along the river/ 
and back toward the Sierra Blanca mountains into terri- 
torie'i almost unknown. 


THE COLONEL COMMANDANT. 2 

Besides being an officer in the Mexican army, Colons 
randa was one of the magistrates of the county. 

The house, as we have said, was a large, massive mai 
n, having, like all Mexican dwellings of its class, a te 
ed roof. What is also common enough in that countp 
vas surrounded by a cupola. Standing less than half •. 
■le distant from the soldiers’ barracks, the commandai 
ind it convenient to make use of it as his headquarter 
small guard in the covered gate-entranc^ below, and 
itry pacing in front, indicated this. I 

There was no family inside, wife, woman, or child ; f/r 
colonel, still a young man, was a bachelor. On- 
ms in the field, grooms and other servants around th 
bles, with domestics in the dwelling — all, male an 
Male, being Indians of the race known as Pueblos, 
“Mansos” — brown»skinned and obedient. 

But there was no Lving lady to make her soft footstej 
ard within the halls of Colonel Miranda’s mansioilj 
lere was the portrait of a lovely girl, that hung agaip • 

5 wall of the main room, upon which his America 
est had more than once gazed in silent admiration. 
Dwed signs of having been recently painted ; which wi 
t strange, since it was the likeness of Colonel Miranda 
ter, some years younger than himself, scarce yet 
»man-^at the time on a visit to some relations in a di 
it city of the republic. 

The host and his guest upon the house-tCp were leisu 
g away the time in the indulgence of a cigar. 


: v 

2 THE COLONEL COMMANDANT. 

“And so you must go to-morrow, Senor Don Fi 
isco?’' said his host, looking inquiringly into the face 
le American. 

“There is no help for it, colonel. The prairie n 
lants with whom I came out will be leaving Santa 
le day after to-morrow. There will be just time for 
> get there. Unless along with them^ there may be 
pportunity for months, and you know one cannot cr 
le plains alone. ” 

“.Well, I suppose I must lose you. I am sorry. I ; 
tmewhat lonely here. There’s not one of my office 
ith the exception of our old medico, exactly of the s 
be companionable. But my sister will soon be he * 
id the brave girl has plenty of life in her, though s 
but young. What a romping creature she is ! wild 
mustang-filly fresh caught. I wish, Don Francisco, y 
luld have seen Adela. I’m sure you’d be delighted w; 
tr.” 

If the portrait on the wall was anything of a faithl 
;eness, Hamersley could not have helped it. This 
s reflection, though he did not in speech declare it. 

“It is hoped we shall meet again. Colonel Miranda 
is the simple rejoinder. “If I did not have this ho 
should now be parting from you with greater regrc 
deed, I have more than a presentiment we shall me. 
ain, for I have as good as made up my mind to retu 
New Mexico. I have always had a fancy for the adve 
rous life of the prairie-trader; and as I have sufficie 


THE COLONEL COM/kTANDANT. >3 

means to stock a small caravan for myself, I think now of 
irymg it. My present trip has been one of experiment 
and exploration. I am satisfied with the result, s.nJ if no 
accident arises you may see me on the Del No' 0 belore 
either of us shall bo twelve months older/' 

*‘Theti, indeed, is there hope of our meeting again. I 
am rejoiced at it. But, SfCnor Don Francisco," continued 
his host, changing to a serious tone, '‘‘a word lest I might 
forget it — a v/ord of counsel, or warning I may call it- 
Dou are too unsuspicious, too regardless of danger. Il 
does not all lie upon the prairies, or among the red- 
skinned savages. There is as much of it here, amid the 
abodes of our so-called civilization. When j-ou are travel- 
ing through this countr]/ keep your late antagonist in 
mind, and should you at any time meet, Icware of kim, 
I have given you some hints about the character of Gil 
Uraga. I have not told you all. He is worse than you 
can ever imagine. I know him well. Do you see tiiat 
ranch standing out among the suburbs — a mere hovel 
it is?" 

Hamersley nodded assent. 

*‘IIe was bom there. His father was a robbei, himself 
the same. He has left in his native place a record of 
crimes welt known, with otheis still worse tliat we more 
than suspected. In short, he is, as I have told you, a 
robber. No doubt you wonder that such a man should 
be a captam of lancers. That i.s because you are ignorant 
of the state of our army — our ilociety as well. It is but 


W^\- ■« 


CGMMANbANT. 

ing changes iu our polilictil 
system. Would you believe it, senor, that this wretch, 
since (^pa-ulettes have been set on his shoulders— -placed 
there for some vile service — has had the audacity to inspire 
to the hand of my sister. A dela Miranda standing m 
bridal rcbes by tfie side of Gil Uraga i I would rather seo 
he;f in her coffin V* 

Hametsley s bosom swelled up under the exciting vswds. 

The young A merican felt an emotion almost equal to that 
of bis host He thought of the .^jveet face that must be 
the original of- that portrait, of the beautiful and innocent 
expression.. 

He thought of the ruffian whose blow he had felt, and 
whose blood he had drawn,. He thought of the wolf^vsl 
the hmk 

^‘But, surely, Colonel Miranda,” he said, at lengtli, 

there could be no danger of such an event as that?” 

‘*Ne’/er, so long as I live. But, senor, this is a strange 
hiid—a countr}^ of quick changes. I am here to-day, 
commandant of this district, with power, I may almost 
Bay, over vhc lives of alj around me,. Xo-morrov’ I may 
be a fugitive, or dead. If the latter, where is she, my 'v 
poor sister, to find the band that could or would protect 
her?” _ 4 

Agivin the breast of Hamersley heaved convulsively* ;4' 

Strange as it might appear, the wolds of his friend seemed 1 
like an appeal to him, J 

Hamersley could not help having strange and varied • 



THE COLONEL COMMANDANT. 


25 

imaginings; yet among them was one thought in the 
shape of a determination. It was to return to Albu- 
querque. 

“I am sure to be back here/’ he said, as if the promise 
might in some way tranquillize the apprehensions of his 
friend. Then changing to a more careless tone, he added : 
“I cannot come by the spring caravan, for there would 
not be time for me to make my arrangements. But I 
shall write you by the trains leaving the States in spring, 
so that you may know when to expect me. And if, Colonel 
Miranda,” he added, after a short, reflective pause, in 
which his countenance took an altered and graver form of 
expression — ''if any political trouble, such as you speak 
of, should occur, and you may find it necessary to flee 
from your own land, I need not tell you that in mine you 
will find a friend and a home. After what has happened 
here, you may depend upon the first being true ; and the 
second, hospitable if humble. ” 

Next morning saw Frank Hamersley riding away from 
the town, on the road toward the Rio Arriba. 

Not alone, but with an escort of dragoons, sent to see 
him safe on the way. 

The hospitality of the Mexican commandant went be- 
yond the walls of his house— even beyond the limits of 
the district he commanded; for the escort did not leave 
his late guest till the latter had set foot upon the plaza 
of Santa Fe. 


26 


SURROUNDED, 


CHAPTER IV. 

SURROUNDED. 

A plain of pure sand — glaring red-yellow under the first 
rays of the jising sun — toward the east and west apparently 
illimitable, but interrupted northward by a chain of table- 
topped hills, and along its southern edge by a continuous 
cliff, rising wall-like to the height of several hundred feet, 
and trending each way beyond the verge of vision. About 
half distance between the prolonged escarpment and the 
outlying hills, six Conestoga wagons are locked tongue 
and tail together, inclosing a lozenge-shaped or eliptical 
space — a corral — inside which are fifteen men and four 
horses. 

Only ten of the men are living, the other five are dead, 
their bodies lying between the wheels of the wagons. Two 
of the horses have succumbed to the same fate. 

Outside are the dead mules, several still attached to the 
protruding poles, broken as their bodies fell crashing 
across them. Fragments of leather straps and cast gear- 
ing tell of others that have stampeded and desperately 
escaped from the spot. Inside and all around are traces 
of a struggle, the ground scored and furrowed by the hoofs 
of horses and the booted feet of men, with here and there 


SURROUNDED, 


27 


little rivulets or pools of blood. This, fast filtering into 
sand, shows that it had been freshly spilled, some of it yet 
smoking. All the signs tell of a recent conflict. And so 
should they, since it is still going on, or only suspended 
to recommence a new act of the tragedy that promises to 
be still more sanguinary than the one just terminated. 

A tragedy easy of explanation. There is no question 
about why the wagons are corraled, or "how the men, 
mules, and horses came to be killed. Distant about three 
hundred yards upon the sandy plain are other men and 
horses to the number of near two hundred. Their half- 
naked bodies of bronze color, fantastically marked with 
devices in chalk-white, charcoal-black, and vermilion-red, 
their buckskin breech-clouts and leggings, with plumes 
sticking tuft-like above their crowns, tell them to be 
Indians. 

It is a band of roaming red men, who have attacked a 
caravan of whites — no new spectacle on the prairies. 

They have made the first onslaught, which was intended 
to stampede the caravan, and at once capture it. This 
was done before daybreak. Foiled in the attempt, they 
are now laying siege to it, having surrounded it on all 
sides at a distance just clearing the range of the rifles of 
the besieged. Their line forms the circumference of a 
circle of which the wagon-clump is the center. It is not 
very regularly preserved, but ever changing, ever in mo- 
tion, like some vast constrictor serpent that has thrown its 
body into a grand coil to close whenever ready to give the 


28 


SURROUNDED. 


fatal squeeze to its victim. And their victims appear to 
have no hope of escape, no alternative but to succumb. 

That the party protected by the wagons have not '‘gone 
under " at the first onslaught of so many enemies, is sig- 
nificative of their character. Of a surety they are not com- 
mon emigrants crossing the prairies on their way to a new 
home. Had they been so they could not have closed 
their wieldy vehicles with such speed and skill ; for they 
had started from their night camp, and the attack had 
been made while the train was in motion, advantage being 
taken of their slow drag through the soft, yielding sand. 
And had they been but ordinary emigrants, they would not 
have stood either so promptly or so courageously on the 
defense, or shown such an array of dead enemies around 
them ; for in the circle of savages outside can be seen at 
least a score of forms lying prostrate on the sand. 

There is a suspension of hostilities. The red men, dis- 
appointed by the failure of their first charge, have retreated 
to a safe distance. 

On one side of the circle a body of them, clumped 
together, holds council ; others gallop around it as bearers 
of instructions that evidently relate to a changed plan of 
attack. With so much blood before their eyes, and the 
bodies of their slain comrades, it is not likely they will 
retire from the ground. In their shouts there is the ring 
of a resolved vengeance and a speedy renewal of the 
fight. 

“Who do you think they are?” asked Frank Hamers- 


SURROUNDED. 


29 


ley, the proprietor of the assaulted caravan. '‘Are they 
Comanches, Walt?” 

“Yes, Kimanch,” answered the individual addressed. 
“An' the wust kind o' Kimanch. They're a band o' the 
cowardly Tenawas. I kin tell by their bows. Don’t ye 
see that thar's two bends in 'em ?'' 

“Ido.” 

“Wal, that’s the sort o' bow the Tenawas cariy — same’s 
the Apach. They hope to make short work of us, and I 
can see no chance 'cept fight it out to the bitter eend. 
There's no mercy in them yells — ne'er a morsel o’ it.” 

“What do you think they intend doing next?” 

“Jest yet 'tain’t easy to tell. Thar’s somethin' afoot 
among 'em — some durned Injun trick. Clar as I kin see, 
that big chief with the red cross on his ribs air him they 
call the Horned Lizard, an' ef it be, thar ain't a cunniner 
coon on alFthis contynent.” 

“Don't you think our best way would be to make a 
dash for it, and try to cut through them? If we stay 
here they’ll starve us out. We haven’t water enough in 
the wagons to give us a drink apiece. ” 

‘ ‘ I know all that, an’ have tho't of it. But ye forget 
about our horses. Thar's only two left alive, yours an' 
mine ; all the rest air shot or stampeded. Thar's but two 
o’ us would stand a chance o' getting clur, and that slim 
enough. ” 

“You are right, Walt. I did not think of that. I 


30 


SURROUNDED. 


would not leave my men, even if assured of my own 
safety — never !” 

‘‘Nobody as knows you, Frank Hamersley, need be 
told that. Ah !” suddenly exclaimed Wilder, as he gazed 
toward the savages, “I knew the Horned Lizard 'ud be 
arter some trick. I see it now. ” 

“What is it?” asked several voices. 

“ Look where that lot’s stannin’ out yonder. Can’t ye 
see they’re wrappin’ somethin’ ’round the heads o’ the 
arrers — look like bits o’ rags. ” 

“ I can see that.” 

“Rags it air, then, sopped in spittles and powder.” 

“For what purpose?” 

“They’re a-goin’ to set the wagons afire.” 

The men, each of whom was watching the post assigned 
to him, despite their danger, already extreme, saw fresh 
cause of alarm in the announcement. 

When they now looked around them, and beheld the 
canvas-tilts and light timbers, dry as chips from long 
exposure to the hot prairie sun, the piles of dry-goods, 
woolen blankets, cotton* and silken stuff, that had been 
intended for the stores of Chihuahua, some of which they 
had hastily pulled from their places to form protecting 
barricades— when they saw all this, and then the prepara- 
tions the Indians were making, it is no wonder they should 
feel dismay when Walt Wilder cried out : 

“They’re a-goin’ to set the wagons afire !” 

The announcement, although carrying alarm, conveyed 


SURROUNDED. 


no counsel. Even the guide, with a life-long experience 
on the prairies, knew not how they should act in this 
unexpected emergency. In the wagons, water there was 
none, at least not enough to have drowned out a confla- 
gration such as that threatened; and, from the way the 
Indians were gesturing, the traders could predict that soon 
a shower of fiery missiles would be sent like meteors into 
their midst. None of them but had experience sufficient 
to admonish them of the mode intended. Even if they 
had never set foot upon a prairie, their school stories and 
legends of early life would have told them. 

Arrows with tinder-rag wrapped round their barbs, on 
fire and spitting sparks or ablaze ! 

If any were ignorant of the missile, or the mode of dis- 
patching it on its mischievous errand, it was- not to be for 
long. Almost as soon as Wilder had given utterance to 
the warning words half a score of the Indians were seen 
springing to the backs of their horses, each bearing a bow, 
with a bunch of the prepared shafts, and, before any steps 
could be taken by the besieged traders, or any counsel 
exchanged between them, the pyrotechnic display had 
commenced. It was done by the savages galloping in 
circles around the wagon camp, their bodies concealed 
behind those of their horses, only a leg and arm showing, 
or now and then a face seen for an instant, and then 
quickly withdrawn. Not exactly in circles, but in a spiral 
ring, at each turn contracting nearer and nearer, till the 
true distance was attained for sending their fiery shafts. 


32 


SURROUNDED. 


‘‘Stand to your guns, boys !” was the hurried command 
of the guide, backed by a speech of encouragement from 
the proprietor of the caravan. 

“Two an’ two o’ ye look out togither. Let one bring 
down the horse, t’other take care o’ the rider as he gits 
unkivered. Make sure afore you pull trigger, an’ don’t 
waste so much as the snappin’ o’ a cap. Thar goes the 
fust o’ the fireworks. ” 

As he spoke a spark was seen to shoot out from one of 
the galloping horses, which, rising rocket-like into the air, 
came in a parabolic curve toward the wagons. 

It fell short some twenty yards, and lay smoking and 
sputtering in the sand. ^ 

“They hain’t got thar distance yit,” cried Walt Wilder; 
“but this child has got his — leastwise for that skunk on 
the black mustang. So hyar goes to rub him off o’ the 
list o’ fire-shooters.” 

And with the last words went the crack of Wilder s 
rifle. 

The young prairie-merchant by his side, supposing him 
to have aimed only at the Indian’s horse, had raised his 
own gun, ready to take the rider as soon as he should be 
uncovered. 

“No need, Frank,” said the guide, restraining him. 
“This child don’t waste two charges o’ powder that way. 
Keep your bullet for the karkidge o’ the next as comes 
’ithin range. Look yonder 1 I know’d I’d fetched him 


THEY HAIN T GOT THAK DISTANCE YIT, BUT THIS CHILD HAS GOT HIS. SO HYAIt GOES TO RUB 
HIM OFF O’ THE LIST o’ FIRE-SHOOTERS/’ CRIED WALT WILDER. — [page 32 .] 





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SURROUNDED. 




out o’ his stirrups, tight as he’s tried to cling to ’em. Thar 
he goes to grass. ” 

Hamersley, as also the others on the same side of the 
corral with Wilder, thought that the shot had been a miss, 
for the Indian at whom he had aimed still stuck to his 
horse, and was carried for some distance on in the curving 
career. Nor did the animal show any signs of having 
been hit. But the rider was. While engaged in the effort 
of sending his arrow, the savage had exposed his face, one 
arm, and part of the other, and, ere he could withdraw 
them, the bullet had struck him on the arm that supported 
him, breaking the bone close to the elbow-joint. He had 
clung on with the tenacity of a shot squirrel, knowing that 
to let go would be as good as death to him. But, despite 
all his efforts, the crippled arm failed to sustain him ; and, 
with a despairing cry, he at length dropped to the ground. 
Before he could get to his feet his body was bored by a 
bullet from one of the men watching on that side, laying 
him out lifeless upon the sand. 

The fall of their comrade taught the other freebooters a 
lesson, and for a time they made their approach with more 
caution. But the shouts of those standing spectators in 
the outer circle stimulated them to fresh efforts, as the 
slightest slow of cowardice would have caused the? 
taunted. 

They closed nearer and nearer, till their arr 
after another, went hurtling through the air, an 
like a continuous shower of spent rocket-stick' 


34 


SURROUNDED. 


tilts of the wagons. Several savages fell under the bullets 
from the barricade, but their places were supplied by fresh 
volunteers from the outside circle, and the sparkling 
shower was kept up till a curl of smoke was seen soaring 
from the white tilts of the wagons; not one, but half a 
dozen of them, and on different sides of the corral. 

“ '^ere on fireT cried Walt Wilder, looking above and 
around. ‘ ‘ On fire everywhere !” 

“ Great Heaven, yes I What are we to do?” asked sev- 
eral voices, despairingly. 

“What are we to do?” shouted the guide, in response. 
“What kin we do but fight it out to the death, an’ then 
die. So, boys, let us die, not like dogs, but as men— as 
AmiricansT 


KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET, 


35 


CHAPTER V. 

KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET. 

The brave words had scarcely passed from Walt Wilder’s 
lips, when the wagons became enveloped in smoke. From 
all sides the cloud rolled into the corral, and the men 
could no longer see each other. 

Still through the obscurity rang their cries of mutual 
encouragement, repeating the determination so tersely ex- 
pressed. 

There was no water by which to extinguish the fast- 
threatening flames; yet in that moment of emergency 
they thought of an expedient. There were shovels in the 
wagons, and laying hold of these, they commenced fling- 
ing sand over the spots that had caught fire, with the 
intent to smother the incipient blaze. Left alone and 
with time they would have succeeded ; but they were not 
left alone, for the savages, seeing the advantage they had 
gained, were now fast closing up for a final charge upon 
the corral, and the implements of industry had to be 
abandoned. 

They were thrown despairingly aside; and the men, 
once more grasping their rifles, sprang back into the 
wagons, each with eager eye to search for an assailant. 


3 ^ 


KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET. 


Though themselves half-blinded by the smoke, they could 
still see the enemy outside, for the Indians, grown con- 
fident by the success of their expedient, were now riding 
recklessly nearer. Quick came the reports of rifles — faster 
and more frequent than ever, fast as ten men, all practiced 
marksmen, could load and fire. In less than sixty seconds 
nearly a score of savages dropped down from their horses, 
pierced by the fatal bullet, till the plain appeared strewn 
with dead bodies. 

But the crisis had come — the time for a general charge 
of the whole band ; and now the dusky outside ring was 
seen gradually contracting toward the wagons — the war- 
riors advancing from all sides, some on foot, others on 
horseback, each eager to secure the trophy of a scalp. On 
they came, with wild, vengeful gestures, with wilder and 
more vengeful yells. 

To the besieged it was the moment of despair. The 
wagons were on fire all around them. In some places 
flames were beginning to flicker up through the smoke. 
They no longer attempted to extinguish them. They saw 
it would be idle. 

Did they think of surrender? No; not a man of them. 
That would have been equally idle. In the voices of 
the advancing foe there was not one tone — one accent of 
mercy. 

Surrender, and be slain afterward I Before death to be 
tortured, perhaps dragged at a horse’s tail, or set up as a 
target for the Comanche sharpshooters to practice at ! No I 


KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET. 


37 


They would have to die anyhow. Better now than then. 
They were not the men to offer both cheeks to the insulter. 
They could resign sweet life, sweeter with the corpses of 
Indians lying thick around them. They would first make 
a hetacomb of their hated foes, and then fall upon it. 
That is the sort of death preferred by the prairie-man, 
hunter, trapper, or trader — glorious to him as the cannon- 
furrowed field to the soldier. That is the sort of death of 
which Walt Wilder spoke when he said : 

“Let us die, not like dogs, but as men — as Americans. ” 

By this time the smoke had completely shrouded the 
wagons, the inclosed space between, and a fringe of some 
depth around them. But a still darker ring was around 
all — the circle of savage horsemen, who from all sides had 
galloped up and dismounted, to make surer work of the 
slaughter. The warriors jostled one another as they pressed 
forward afoot, each thirsting for a trophy — a scalp ! 

The last throe of the conflict had come. It was no 
longer to be a duel at a distance — no more a contest 
between rifle-bullets and barbed arrows ; but the close, 
desperate, hand-to-hand conflict of pistol and knife, spear, 
war-club, and hatchet. 

The ten white men — all yet unhurt — knew well what 
was before them. Not one of them blanched, or talked 
of backing. They did not even think of surrender. 

It would have been too late to sue for mercy, had they 
been so inclined ; but they were not. Attacked without 
provocation, and treacherously, as they had been, their 


38 KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET. 

fuiy was stronger than their fear, and anger now nerved 
them to a frenzied energy of action 

The Indians were no longer advancing upon them. 

-.They were already close around the wagons, clustering 
upon the wheels, or, like snakes, wriggling through the 
spaces left undefended. Rifles had ceased to ring, but 
pistols cracked — repeating-pistols, that dealt death at every 
shot, sending redskin after redskin to the happy hunting- 
grounds. And by the pistol’s flash, blades were seen gleam- 
ing through the smoke, now bright, but soon dimmed 
and dripping blood. 

For every white man that fell, at least three Indians 
dropped dead upon the sand. The unequal contest could 
not long continue — nor did it. Scarcely ten minutes did 
it last, and but for the obscuring smoke, five would have 
finished it. This was in favor of the assailed, enabling 
them to act with advantage against the -assailants. Such 
a quick, wholesale slaughter did the white men make with 
their repeating-pistols, that the savages, surprised and stag- 
gered by it, for a moment recoiled, and appeared as if 
again going to retreat. 

They did not — they dared not. Their superior numbers, 
the shame of being defeated by such a handful of foes, 
the glory of conquest, and added to ‘ angry vengeance 
now hot in their hearts — all urged them on, and the 
attack was renewed with greater earnestness than ever. 

Throughout every scene in the strife, Frank Hamersley 
had comported himself with a courage that made his men 


KNIFE, PISTOL, AND NAZCNET. 


39 


feel less fear of death, and less regret to die by his side. 
Fighting like a lion, and shouting encouragement to his 
comrades, he had been here, there, and everywhere. He 
had done his full share of killing. 

It was all in vain. Though standing in the midst of 
thick smoke, unseeing and unseen, he knew that most of 
his faithful men had fallen. He was admonished of this 
by the less frequent responses to the cries of encourage- 
ment, that told him the struggle was close upon its ter- 
mination. No wonder his fury was fast giving place to 
despair. But it was no craven fear, nor any thought of 
escape. The determination not to be taken alive was 
strong as ever in him. 

His hand still firmly clasped the bowie-knife, its blade 
dripping with the blood of more than one enemy, for into 
the body of more than one savage had he plunged it. He 
clutched it with the determination still further to kill — to 
take yet another life before his own. It was hopeless, 
useless slaughtering; but it was sweet. He was insane 
with anger, and thought it sweet. 

Three dusky antagonists lay dead at his feet, and he was 
rushing through the corral in search of a fourth. 

A giant form ’oomed up before him, looking more 
gigantic from the m ^nifying effect of the smoke. 

It was not that of a savage. It was Walt Wilder. 

“Dead beat!” hoarsely and hurriedly shouted the guide. 
“We must go under, Frank, We’re bound to go under, 
if we don’t ” 


40 


KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET 


‘‘Don’t what, Walt!” 

“ Git away from hyar.” 

“Impossible!” 

“No. Thar’s still a chance, I think — for us two, any- 
ways. Thar ain’t many o’ the others left, an’ ef thar was, 
we can’t do ’em any good now by stayin’. Our stayin’ ’ud 
be no use to them — no use dyin’ along wi’ ’em ^ an’ ef we 
git clur, we’ll revenge ’em. Don’t ye see our horses are 
still safe. Thar they air, cowerin’ dost in agin one o’ 
the waguns. Tain’t much chance, I admit ; stilMhar’s a 
shadder. Come on ; let’s try it.” 

Hamersley hesitated. It was the thought of deserting 
even the last of his faithful followers, who had sacrificed, 
or were still sacrificing, their lives in his service. But as 
the guide had truly said, what good could he do them by 
staying to be killed, while he might survive to avenge 
them. This last thought would have decided him. But 
Wilder had not waited for the determination. While 
speaking the urgent words, he had laid his huge hand 
upon Hamersley’s shoulder, and half led, half dragged 
him toward the horses. 

“Keep hold o’ yur rifle, though it be empty,” hurriedly 
counseled the guide. “If we shed git away, it will be 
needed. We mout as well go under hyar as be on the 
puraira ’ithout a gun. Now mount.” 

Almost mechanically the young Kentuckian climbed 
upon the back of the horse nearest him — his own. The 
guide had not yet mounted his, and Hamersley saw 


KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHF 


through the smoke that he was leaning against the wheel 
of one of the wagons. In an instant after he perceived 
that the vehicle was in motion, and he could hear a 
slight grating noise as the tire turned in the sand. The 
great wagon with its load had yielded to the strength of 
the colossus. 

In another instant a horseman was by his side, who 
muttered in his ear : 

“Now, Frank, I've opened a crack atween the two. 
Let’s cut out through it. We can keep in the kiver o' the 
smoke as fur as it’ll screen us. You foller, and see that 
ye don’t lose sight o’ me. If we must go under in the 
end, let it be out on the open plain, an’ not shet up hyar 
like badgers in a barrel. Follow me dost, Frank. Now 
or niver I” 

Almost mechanically Hamersley yielded obedience, and 
in ten seconds after the two horsemen had cleared the 
wagon-clump, with the shouting crowd that encircled it, 
and were going at full gallop across the plain. 


42 


THROUGH THE SMOKE, 


CHAPTER VI. 

THROUGH THE SMOKE. 

In making their bold dash, Walt Wilder was not acting 
without a plan. He had one preconceived. The smoke, 
with its covering cloud, might be the means of conceal- 
ment and salvation. At all events, it might cover their 
retreat long enough to give them a start of the pursuers, 
and then the speed of their horses could possibly be de- 
pended upon for the rest. 

They followed this plan, but unfortunately soon found 
that the smoke was not drifting in the right direction. 
The breeze carried it almost direct toward the line of 
escarpment, while their only chance would be to strike for 
the open plain. 

At the cliff their flight would be stopped, for there ap- 
peared to be no passage for either man or horse. So far 
the smoke had favored them. Thick and stifling in the 
immediate vicinity of the wagons, it had enabled them to 
slip unperceived through the line of savages. Many of 
these, still mounted, had seen them pass outward, but 
through the blup film had mistaken them for two of their 
own me~ ’perhaps knew nothing of the animals 

i'T''' ' did not expect to see any* of their 

to escape on horseback ; besides, 


THROUGH THE SMOKE. 


43 


they were now busy endeavoring to extinguish the fires in 
the wagons, all resistance being at an end. 

As yet there was no sign of pursuit, and the fugitives 
kept on, still with the protecting smoke-cloud around 
them. 

In the soft sand their horses’ hoofs made no trampling 
noise, and they rode on toward the cliff, silent as specters. 

On reaching the rocks, it became necessary for them 
either to change the direction of their flight or bring it to 
a terminatioti. The red sandstone cliff towered vertically 
before them, like a wall of rude mason-work. A cat could 
not have scaled it, much less horse or man. 

Already the smoke was fast thinning around them, the 
Indians having nearly extinguished the fires in order to 
save the treasure — which had no doubt been the object for 
their attacking the caravan. 

Delay would only add to their danger, and with this 
thought urging them on, they wheeled their horses to the 
left and headed them along the line of the bluff. 

Six seconds after and they were riding in a pure atmos- 
phere, under a clear, dazzling sunlight. 

But it gave them no joy. A yell ons told 

them they were seen, and simult ^ut, 

they saw a score of savage horsem . > 

toward them. 

They were both splendidly mounted, w sd 
have had a fair chance of escape; but now an 
met their eyes that once more drove them to despan. 


44 


THROUGH THE SMOKE, 


A promontory of the cliff, stretching far out into the 
sandy plain, lay directly in their track. Its point was 
nearer to their pursuers than to them. Before they could 
reach and turn it their retreat would be intercepted. 

They might escape in the opposite direction. 

Again suddenly turning, they galloped back as they had 
come, again eiUered the belt of smoke, and riding in 
through it, reached the clear sunlight beyond. 

Again a torturing disappointment. Another promon- 
tory — twin to the first — ^jutted out to obstruct them. 

There was no mystery in the matter. They saw the 
mistake they had made. In escaping under cover of the 
smoke they had gone too far, having ridden into a deep 
enlargement of the cliff. 

Their pursuers, who had turned promptly as they, again 
had the advantage. The projecting point was nearer to 
them, and they would be- almost sure to arrive at it first. 

For the fugitives there appeared no alternative but to 
ride on and take their chances of hewing their way through 
the savage host. 

“Git yur knife ready, Frank!” shouted Wilder, as he 
dug his spurs into his horse, and put the animal to his full 
speed. ‘ ‘ Let’s keep close thegither — livin’ or dead, let’s 
keep close thegither. ” 

Their steeds needing no urging. To an American horse 
accustomed to the prairie, there is no spur like the yell 
of an Indian, for he knows that along with it usually comes 
the shock of a bullet or the sting of a barbed shaft. 


THROUGH THE SMOKE. 


45 


Both bounded off together, and went over the soft sand, 
silent, but swift as the wind. All in vain. 

Before they had half reached the projecting point, the 
savages were clustering around it, and with spears couched, 
bows bent, and clubs brandished, stood ready to receive 
them. 

It was a gantlet that Simon Girty might despair of being 
able to run. 

Truly seemed their retreat now cut off; and surely did 
death appear to be staring them in the face. 

So thought the young prairie-merchant, as he turned 
despairingly toward his companion. 

With a quick, searching glance Wilder ran his eye along 
the base of the cliff. The rock of red sand-stone rose 
rugged and frowning full five hundred feet overhead. To- 
the superficial glance it seemed to forbid all chance either 
of being scaled or giving concealment. There was not 
even a bowlder below behind which they could find shelter 
from the shafts of the pursuers. For all that, Wilder con- 
tinued to scan it, as if it suggested some old recollection. 

'‘It must be the place,” he muttered. “It is, by the 
Eternal !” he added, more emphatically, once more wrench- 
ing his horse around, and crying out to his companion to 
follow him. 

Hamersley obeyed, and rode off without knowing what 
next. But in another instant he divined the intent of this 
sudden change in the tactics of his fellow fugitive. There 
was an opening in the escarpment ! 


46 


THROUGH THE SMOKE. 


It was a mere crack or chine, scarce so wide as a door- 
way, and barely large enough to admit a man on horse- 
back. Vertically it traversed to the top of the cliff, splitting 
it from base to summit. 

“From your horse!” cried Wilder, as he pulled up 
before it, at the same time flinging himself off his own. 
“ Drop the bridle and leave him behind. One o* them’ll 
be enough for what I want, and let it be myen. Poor 
critter ! It’s a pity, too ; but it can’t be helped. We must 
have some kiver to screen us. Quick, Frank — quick ! or 
they’ll be on us. ” 

Painful as it was to abandon his brave steed, Hamersley 
did as directed without well knowing why. The last 
speeches of the guide were somewhat enigmatical, but he 
knew they must have some meaning. 

“Now, up into the kanyon without losing a second. 
Hyar, take my rifle an’ load both o’ ’em, whiles I tend to 
the closin’ o’ the gap.” 

Seizing both guns in his grasp, Hamersley sprang into 
the crack, stopping when he had got well inside the jaws. 
Wilder followed, leading his horse by the bridle. There 
was a stone lying across the aperture, over which the horse 
had to straddle. It was above two f^et in height, and 
when he had got his fore legs over it Wilder held him at a 
stand. Though hitherto following with meek obedience, 
the horse trembled, and showed an inclination to shy back. 
There was an expression in his owner’s eye he had never 


THROUGH THE SMOKE. 


47 


seen there before — something that frightened him. But 
he could not now escape. 

With his ribs close pressing the rocks on either side, he 
could not rear around, and a firm hold in front hindered 
him from backing. 

Hamersley, busily engaged in loading the rifles, never- 
theless fouiid time to glance at Wilder’s doings, wondering 
what he was about. 

*‘It’s a pity !” again exclaimed the guide, repeating the 
same words, and in the same tone of commisseration ; 
“but it must be done. If thar war a rock big enough, 
or a log or anythin’. But thar ain’t ne’er a thing — no 
other chance to make kiver. So hyar goes for a bit o' 
butcherin’ I” 

As the guide thus delivered himself, Hamersley saw him 
pluck the bowie-knife from his belt, its blade black-red 
with human gore. In another instant its edge was drawn 
across the throat of the horse, leaving a gash behind from 
which the blood gushed forth in a thick, strong stream, 
like water from the spout of a pump. The animal made 
a desperate effort to back; but with his head dragged 
down to his fore legs over the rock, he was unable to stir 
from the spot. After a convulsive throe or two, he sank 
down till his belly touched the stone underneath. In this 
attitude he ended his life, his head after a time sinking 
down, his eyes apparently turned with a last reproachful 
look upon the master who had murdered him. 

“ It hed to be done; thar war no help for it,” said Walt 



THP GH THE SMOKE. 


W'kier, -iS h hnr ’ turned toward his companion. 
“ Have you got the guns charged?” 

Hamersley made answer by handing to the guide his 
own gun. It was loaded and ready. 

Durn the blood-thirsty cowarts!” he exclaimed, grasp- 
ing it, and then facing toward the plains. “ I don’t know 
how it may all eend, but that’ll keep ’em off a while any- 
how. ” 

As he spoke he threw himself behind the body of his 
slaughtered steed. That, sustained in an upright position 
between the counterpart walls, formed a safe barricade 
against the bullets and arrows of the Indians, who now, 
riding straight toward the spot, made the rocks resound 
with exclamations of surprise — shouts that spoke of a de- 
layed, perhaps defeated, vengeance. 

They took care, however, not to come within range of 
that long, steel-gray tube, which, turning like a telescope 
on a pivot, commanded a semicircle of at least a hundred 
yards radius around the opening in the cliff. 


THE PURSUERS AT BAY, 


49 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE PURSUERS AT BAY. 

Despite all the earnestness of their vengeful anger, the 
savage pursuers were now fairly at bay, and for a time 
could be kept so. 

Hamersley looked upon it as being but a respite, a 
mere temporary deliverance from danger, yet to terminate 
in death. They had got into a Crevice of rock, where, to 
all appearance, they could defend themselves as long as 
their ammunition lasted, or they could withstand the 
assaults of thirst or the cravings of hunger. How were 
they to get out again? As well might they have been 
besieged in a cave with no chance of sortie or escape. 

These thoughts he communicated to his companion as 
soon as they found time to talk. 

‘‘Hunger an' thirst hain’t nothin' to do wi’ it," was 
Wilder’s response. “We ain’t a-goin’ to stay hyar, not 
twenty minutes, if this child kin manage it, as he intends 
to do. Ye don’t s’pose I rushed into this hyar hole like a 
chased rabbit? No, Frank, I’ve hern of the place afore 
from some fellers as, like ourselves, took refuge in it from 
a band of pursuing Kimanch. Thar’s a way leads out at 
the back, an' jess as soon as we kin throw dust in the eyes 

these yellin' varmints in front, we’ll put straight for it. 


5 ^ 


THE PURSUERS AT BAY. 


I don’t know what sort o’ a passage that is — up the rocks 
by some kind o’ a ravine. We must do our best to 
find it.” 

‘‘But how do you intend to keep them from following 
you? You speak of throwing dust in their eyes. How, 
Walt?” 

“You wait, watch, an’ see. You won’t hev yur patience 
terrifically tried, for thar ain’t much time to spare about it. 
Thar’s another passage up the cliffs, not far off. Not a 
doubt but these Injuns know it ; an’ ef we don’t make 
haste they’ll git up thar, an’ come in upon us by the back 
door, which that won’t do, no how somedever. You keep 
yourself in readiness, an’ watch what I’m a-goin to do. 
When you see me scoot up backwards, foller without 
sayin’ a word. ” 

Hamersley promised compliance, and the guide, still 
kneeling behind the barricade he had so cruelly con- 
structed, commenced a series of maneuvers that held his 
companion in speechless conjecture. 

He first placed his gun in such a position that the barrel 
rested across the hips of the dead horse projected beyond 
the tail. In this position he made it fast by tying the butt 
with a piece of string to a projecting part of the saddle. 
He next took the cap from his head — a coonskin it was — 
and set it so that its upper edge could be seen alongside 
the pommel, and rising about three inches above the 
croup. The ruse was an old one, with some new addi- 
tions and embellishments. 


THE PURSUERS AT BAY. 


51 


‘‘Its all done now,” said Wilder, turning away from the 
carcass, and crouching back to where his comrade awaited 
him. “Come on, Frank. If they don’t diskiver the 
trick till we ve got time to climb up the clift, then thar's 
still a chance for us. Come on, an’ keep dost arter me.” 

F rank followed without saying a word. He was confi- 
dent that his guide, well known and long trusted, had a 
reason for everything he did. It was not the time to ques- 
tion him, or discuss the prudence of the step he was 
taking. There might be danger before, but there was 
death — sure death behind them. 

In less than a dozen paces from its entrance the cleft 
opened into a wider space, again* closing like a pair of 
callipers. It was a hollow of elliptical shape, that of an 
old-fashioned butter-boat, scooped out of the solid rock, 
on all sides precipitous, except at the upper end. Here a 
ravine, sloping down from the summit level above, would, 
to the geologist, at once proclaim the secret of its forma- 
tion. Not so easily explained might seem the narrow 
outlet to the open plain. But one skilled in the geology 
of the sandstone would there detect certain ferrugineous 
veins that, refusing to yield to the erosion of the running 
stream, had stood for countless ages. 

Neither Walt Wilder nor the young Kentuckian gave 
thought to such scientific speculations, as they retreated 
through the narrow gap, and back into the wider gorge. 
All they knew, or cared for, was that a gully at the oppo- 


52 


THE PURSUERS AT BAY, 


site end was seen to slope upward, promising a path to the 
plain above. 

In sixty seconds after they were in it, toiling onward 
and upward amid a chaos of rocks, where no horse could 
follow — loose bowlders that looked as if hurled down from 
heaven above, or belched from earth, underneath. 

The retreat of the fugitives up the ravine, like their dash 
out of the inclosed corral, was still but a doubtful effort 
Neither of them had full confidence in being able event- 
ually to escape. It was like the wounded squirrel clutch- 
ing at the last tiny twig of a tree, however unable to sup- 
port it. They were not quite certain that the sloping 
gorge would give them a path to the upper plain, for 
Wilder had only a doubtful recollection of what some 
trapper had told him. But evea if it did, the Indians, 
expert climbers as they were, would soon be after them, 
close upon their heels. The ruse could not remain long 
undetected. 

They rushed up the rock-strewn ravine, now gliding 
along ledges, squeezing their bodies between the great 
bowlders, springing from one to the other, in the audacity 
of their bounds rivaling a brace of big horns. 

They had got more than half-way up, when the cries of 
the Indians came pealing up the glen behind them. The 
shouts of the pursuers caused them to increase their efforts, 
and they hastened on. 

All at once they were brought to a stop, though not by 
anything that obstructed their path. 


THE PURSUERS AT BAY, 


S3 


On the contrary, it only seemed easier, for there were 
now fwo ways open to them instead of one, the ravine at 
this point forking into two distinct chasms. There was a 
choice of which to take, and it was this that caused them 
to stop, at the same time creating embarrassment 

The pause, however, was but for a brief space of time, 
only long enough to make a hasty reconnoissance. In the 
promise of an easy ascent there seemed but little differ- 
ence between the two paths and the guide soon came to a 
determination. 

*‘It’s a toss up atween 'em,” he said; ‘‘but let's take 
the one to the right It looks a leetle the likest” 

Of course, his fellow-fugitive did not dissent, and they 
struck into the right-hand ravine, but not until Walt 
Wilder had plucked the red kerchief from his head and 
flung it as far as he could up the left one, where it was left 
lying in a conspicuous position among the rocks. 

He did not say why he had thus strangely abandoned 
the remnant of his head-gear; but his companion, suffi- 
ciently experienced in the ways and wiles of prairie life, 
stood in no need of an explanation. 

The track they had now taken was of comparatively easy 
ascent, and it was this, perhaps, that had tempted Wilder 
to take it. But, like most things, both in the moral and 
physical world, its easiness proved a delusion. They had 
not gone twenty paces farther up, when the sloping chasm 
terminated. It opened upon a little platform, covered 


54 


THE PURSUERS AT BAY. 


with large loose stones that there rested after having fallen 
from the cliff above. 

But at a single glance they saw that the cliff could not 
be scaled. 

They had entered into a trap, out of which there was 
now no chance of escape or retreat without throwing them- 
selves back upon the breasts of their pursuers. 

The Indians were already ascending the main ravine. 
By their voices it could be told that they had reached the 
point where it divided, for there was a momentary suspen- 
sion of their cries, as with the baying of hounds thrown 
suddenly off the scent 

It would not likely be for long. They must first follow 
up the chasm where the kerchief had been cast; but, 
should that also prove to be without an outlet at the rear, 
they would return and try the other. 

The fugitives saw that it was too late to retrace their 
steps. 

They sprang together upon the platform, and com- 
menced searching among the loose rocks, in hopes of 
gaining some place of concealment. 

All at once an exclamation from the guide called his 
companion to his side. It was accompanied by a gesture, 
and followed by the words, low muttered : 

‘‘Look hyar, Frank! look at this hole I Darnation! 
let s get into it V* 

As Hamersley came close he perceived a dark aperture 
among the stones to which Wilder was pointing. It 


THE PURSUERS AT BAY. 


55 


opened vertically downward, and was of an irregular, 
roundish shape, somewhat resembling the mouth of a 
well, half coped over with slabs. 

Dare they enter it? Could they? What depth was it? 

Wilder took up a pebble and flung it down. They 
could hear it descending, not at a single drop, but striking 
and ricochetting from side to side. 

It was long before it reached the bottom and lay silent. 
No matter for that The noise made in its descent told 
them of projecting points or ledges that might give them a 
foothold. 

They lost not a moment of time, but commenced 
letting themselves down into the funnel-shaped shaft, the 
guide going first 

Slowly and silently they went down, like ghosts through 
the stage of a theater, soon disappearing in the gloom 
below, and leaving upon the rock-strewn platform no trace 
to show that human feet had ever trodden it 


56 


IN DARKNESS, 


CHAPTER VIII. 

IN DARKNESS. 

Fortunately for the fugitives, the cavern into which they 
had crept was a shaft of but slight diameter; otherwise 
they could not have gone down without dropping far 
enough to cause death, for the echoes from the pebble 
spoke of a vast depth. 

As it was, the vertical void proved to be somewhat like 
that of a stone-built chimney, with here and there a stone 
left projecting. It was so narrow, moreover, that they were 
able to use both hands and knees in the descent, and by 
this means accomplished it 

They went but slowly, and required to proceed with 
caution. They knew that a false step, the slipping of a 
foot or hand, or the breaking of a fragment that gave hold 
to their hands, would precipitate them to an unknown 
depth. They did not go farther than was deemed neces- 
sary to serve for concealment There was noise made in 
their descent, and they knew the Indians would soon be 
above, and might hear them. Their only hope lay in their 
pursuers believing them to have gone by the left-hand 
chasm and the plain above. In all likelihood the Indians 
would explore both branches of the ravine, and if the 


IN DARKNESS. 


57 


cunning savages should suspect their presence in the shaft, 
there would be no hope for them. These thoughts decided 
them to come to a stop as soon as they could find foot- 
hold. About thirty feet from the surface they found this, 
on a point of rock or ledge that jutted horizontally across 
the shaft. It was broad enough to give both fair standing- 
room, and they were now in intense darkness. 

It was not long before they saw that which justified their 
caution — the plumed head of a savage, with his neck 
craned over the edge of the aperture, and seen conspicu- 
ously against the blue sky above. And soon half a dozen 
similar figures beside it ; while they could hear distinctly 
the talk that was passing between them. 

Wilder had some knowledge of the Comanche tongue, 
and could make out most of what was being said. Amid 
exclamations that spoke of vengeance, there were words 
in a calmer tone — discussion, inquiry, and conjecture. 

From these it could be understood that the pursuers 
had separated into two parties — one following on the false 
track, by the path which the guide had baited for them ; 
the other coming direct up by the right and true one. 

There were bitter exclamations of disappointment, and 
threats of an implacable vengeance ; and the fugitives, as 
they listened, might have reflected how fortunate they had 
been in finding that unfathomed hole. But for it they 
would already have been in the clutches of a cruel enemy. 

However, they had little time for reflection. The talk 


58 


IN DARNNESS. 


overhead at first expressed doubts as to their having de- 
scended the shaft ; but doubts readily to be set at rest. 

The eyes of the Indians having failed to inform them, 
their heads were withdrawn, and soon after a stone came 
tumbling down the chimney. 

Something of this kind the guide had predicted, for he 
flattened himself against the wall behind, and stood as 
“small” as his colossal frame would permit, having cau- 
tioned his companion to do the same. 

The stone passed without striking them, and went crash- 
ing on till it lay on the bottom below. 

Another followed, and another, the third striking Ham- 
ersley on the breast and tearing a couple of buttons from 
his coat. 

This was shaving close — too close to be comfortable. 
Perhaps the next bowlder might rebound from the wall 
above, and strike one or both of them dead. 

In fear of this result, they commenced groping to find 
whether the ledge offered any better screen from the dan- 
gerous shower that promised to rain for some time longer 
upon them. 

Good ! Hamersley got his hand into a hole that opened 
horizontally, and proved big enough to admit his body, 
as also the larger frame of his companion. Both were 
soon inside it. It was a sort of grotto they had discovered, 
and, squatted inside it, they could laugh to scorn the 
storm that still came rattling from above, the stones hiss- 


IN DARKNESS. 


59 

ing and hurtling like aerolites as they passed close to their 
faces. 

The rocky rain at length ended. The Indians had sud- 
denly come to the conclusion that it was either barren in 
results, or must have effectually performed the purpose 
intended by it, and for a short while there was silence 
above and below. 

They who were hidden in the shaft might have supposed 
that their persecutors, satisfied at what they had accom- 
plished, were retiring, or had retired, from the spot. 

Hamersley did think so ; but the old prairie-man, more 
skilled in the Indian character, could not console himself 
with such a fancy. 

‘‘Ne’er a bit o’ it,” he whisperingly said to his com- 
panion. “They ain’t a-goin’ to leave us that eezy — not if 
Horned Lizard be amongst ’em. They’ll either stay there 
till we climb out agin, or try to smoke us out. Ye may 
take my word for it, Frank, thar’s some’at to come of it. 
Look up ! Didn’t I tell ye so? ’ 

Wilder drew back out of the narrow aperture, through 
which he had been craning his neck and shoulders to get 
a view of what was passing above. 

The hole leading into the grotto that held them was 
barely large enough to admit the body of a man. Hamers- 
ley took his place, and turning his eyes upward, at once 
saw what his comrade referred to. It was the smoke of a 
fire that appeared in the act of being kindled near the edge 
of the aperture above. The smoke was ascending toward 


6o 


m DARKNESS, 


the sky diagonally, drifting across the blue disk outline by 
the rim of the rocks. 

He had barely time to make the observation, when a 
swishing sound admonished him to draw back his head, 
and there passed before his face a mass of falling stalks 
and fagots, in which sparks and flame were commingled. 
Some of this settled upon the ledge, the rest sweeping on 
to the bottom of the abyss. 

In a moment after the shaft was filled with smoke, but 
not that of an ordinary wood fire. Even this would have 
been sufficient to stifle them where they were; but the 
fumes now entering their nostrils were of a kind to cause 
suflbcation almost instantaneously. 

The fagots set on fire were the stalks of the creosote plant 
— the ideodondo of the Mexican table-lands, well known for 
its power to cause asphyxia. Walt Wilder recognized it at 
the first whiff. 

**It's the stink-weed 1” he exclaimed. *‘That darned 
stink-weed o’ ^^ew Mexico. It’ll kill us if we can’t keep 
it out. Off wi’ yer coat, Frank. It air bigger than my 
hunting-shirt. Let’s spread it acrost the hole, and see if 
that’ll do.” 

His companion obeyed with alacrity, stripping off his 
coat as quickly as the limited space would permit. For- 
tunately, it was a garment of the sack specialty, without 
any split in the tail, and when extended offered a good 
breadth of surface. It proved sufficient for the purpose, 
and before the little grotto had become so filled with 


IN DARKNESS. 


6l 


smoke as to be absolutely untenable, its entrance was 
closed by a curtain of broadcloth. 

For nearly half an hour they kept the coat spread, hold- 
ing it close around the edges of the aperture with heads, 
hands, knees, and elbows. 

Withal some of the bitter smoke found ingress, tortur- 
ing their eyes and half stifling them. 

They bore it with philosophic fortitude and in profound 
silence, using their utmost eflbrts to prevent sneezing or 
coughing. 

From what Wilder had heard, their persecutors were in 
doubt about their having descended into the shaft, and 
this uncertainty promised to be their salvation. Unless 
sure that they were taking all this trouble to some pur- 
pose, the redmen would not dally long over their work. 
Besides, there was rich booty to be distributed from the 
captured wagons, which would attract the Indians back 
to them, each having an interest in being present at the 
distribution. 

Thus reasoned Walt Wilder as they listened to detect a 
change in the performance, making use of all their ears. 

Of course they could see nothing, no more than if they 
had been immured in the darkest cell of an inquisitorial 
dungeon. Only by their ears might they make any guess 
at what was going on. These admonished them that more 
of the burning brush was being heaved into the hole. 
Every now and then they could hear it as it went swishing 


62 


IN darkness;. 


past the door of their curtained chamber, the stalks and 
sticks rasping against the rocks in their descent. 

After a time these sounds ceased to be heard, the In- 
dians no doubt thinking that sufficient of the inflammable 
matter had been cast in to cause their complete destruc- 
tion. If inside the cavern they must by this time be stifled 
— dead. 

So must have reasoned the red-skinned fumigators, for 
after awhile they desisted from their brutal task. 

But as if to make assurance doubly sure before taking 
their departure from the spot they performed another act 
of equally merciless intent. During the short period of 
silence their victims could not guess what they were about. 
They only knew by occasional sounds reaching them from 
above that there was some change in the performance, but 
what it was they could not even shape a conjecture. The 
silence at length ended with a loud, rumbling noise, that 
was itself suddenly terminated in a grand crash, as if a 
portion of the impending cliff had become detached and 
fallen down upon the platform. 

Then succeeded a silence, unbroken by the slightest 
sound. No longer was heard either noise or a voice, not 
the murmur of one. 

It was a silence that resembled death — as if the vindictive 
savages had one and all met a deserved doom by being 
crushed under the cliff. 

For some time after hearing this mysterious noise, which 
had caused the rocks to tremble around them, the two 


IN DARKNESS. 


63 


men remained motionless within their place of conceal- 
ment. At length Wilder cautiously and deliberately pushed 
aside the curtain. At first only a small portion of it — a 
corner, so as to make sure about the smoke. It still 
oozed, but not voluminously as at first. It had evidently 
become attenuated, and was growing thinner. It appeared 
also to be ascending with rapidity, as up the funnel of a 
chimney having a good draught. For this reason it was 
carried past the mouth of the grotto without much of it 
drifting in, and they saw that they could now safely with- 
draw the curtain. 

It was a welcome relaxation from the irksome task that 
had been so long imposed upon them, and the coat was 
at once permitted to drop down upon the ledge. 

Although there were no longer any sounds heard, or 
othea- signs to indicate the presence of the Indians, the 
fugitives did not feel sure of their having gone, and it 
was some time before they made an attempt to re-ascend 
the shaft. 

At length, however, perceiving that the tranquillity con- 
tinued, they no longer deemed it rash to risk a recon- 
noissance, and for this purpose Walt Wilder crawled out 
upon the ledge and looked upward. A feeling of surprise, 
mingled with apprehension, at once seized upon him. 

“Kin it be night?” he asked, whispering the words back 
into the grotto. 

“Not yet, I should think, ” answered Hamersley. “The 


64 


IN DARKNESS, 


fight was begun before daybreak. The day can't all have 
passed yet. But why do you ask, Walt ?” 

“Because thar's no light cornin' from above. Whar's 
the bit o' blue sky we seed ? Thar ain't the breadth o' a 
hand visible. It can't be the smoke as hides it. That 
seems most dared off. Durned ef I kin see a bit o' the 
sky I 'Bove us, below, everything as black as the ten o' 
spades. What the duse kin it mean?” 

Without waiting for a reply, or staying for his companion 
to come out upon the ledge, the guide rose to his feet, and 
grasping the projecting points above his head, commenced 
ascending the shaft in a similar manner to that by which 
he had made the descent. 

Hamersley, who by this time had crept out of the cavity, 
stood upon the ledge, listening. 

He could hear his comrade as he scrambled up, his feet 
rasping the rocks, and his hard breathing. 

At length Walt appeared to have reached the top, when 
Hamersley heard words that caused a thrill of horror to 
pass through his frame. 

“Oh, Heaven!” cried the guide, in his surprise for- 
getting to subdue the tone of his voice; “they've built 
us up. Thar’s a stone over the mouth o’ the hole, shettin^ 
it like a pot-lid. A stone— a rock that no mortal could 
move. Frank Hamersley, it’s all over wi’ us I Were 
buried alive I” 


A SAVAGE JOLLIFICATION. 




CHAPTER IX. 

A SAVAGE JOLLIFICATION. 

The sanguinary strife ended with the capture of the 
caravan. When the smoke of the extinguished fires drifted 
aside, and the sunlight once more fell free upon the 
wagons, a horrible picture was presented. 

Within the corral lay the bodies of thirteen white men, 
their heads without hair, and the crown of each showing 
a surface of crimson color. The scalping-knife had already 
done its bloody work, and the hideous trophies were seen 
drooping from the points of spears triumphantly poised by 
the savage victors. 

Their triumph had cost them dear. On the plain out- 
side, and around the captured wagons, at least fifty of their 
own men lay dead upon the sand, while a group here and 
there, bending over some recumbent form, told of a war- 
rior wounded. 

A band of twenty or thirty braves had gone in pursuit 
of the two whites who had escaped. Those that remained 
at once set about collecting the corpses of their slain com- 
rades, with the intent to inter them, while the bodies of 
their butchered enemies* were submitted to still further 
mutilation. A resistance unexpected, causing them such 


66 


A SAVAGE JOLLIFICATION. 


grievous loss, had roused their vengeance to the point of 
exasperation, and they could only expend it upon corpses. 
These were hashed and hacked with tomahawks, pierced 
with spears and arrows, beaten with war-clubs, and dragged 
at the tails of horses. 

It was a spectacle of fiendish spite — unlike anything 
that might be supposed to occur upon earth — only to be 
compared to a scene in the infernal regions, with demons 
for the actors. 

The party that had gone off in pursuit, after a time 
returned. They did not bring either captives or scalps. 
But their report was satisfactory. They had followed the 
fugitives first to the upper plain. They could not have 
escaped in that way, as they would have been seen for 
miles off, and there was not time for them to retreat to 
such a distance. They had then got upon the true trail, 
and found the hole in the rocks, where the two men must 
have taken shelter. No one had dared to go into it. That 
would have been like attacking a grizzly bear in its den. 
But they had sent down stones to do the deadly work, and 
if these failed, the smoke of the creosote plant must have 
finished them. To make sure, however, they had rolled a 
stone over the aperture of the cavern, closing it up forever. 
Twenty men had laid their shoulders to it, and there was 
no fear that the two could ever stir it from its place. 
Living or dead, the white men would never more be seen 
upon the earth. 

So reported the returned party of pursuers. 


A SAVAGE JOLLIFICATION. 


67 


• A scene next ensued in which the grotesque and terrible 
were strangely commingled. The plunder of the wagons 
began, and with it the distribution of the goods. Some 
of these had been destroyed or damaged by the fire, but 
there was still fifty thousand dollars’ worth left to satisfy the 
cupidity of the spoilers. They consisted of assorted mer- 
chandise — some hardware, in the shape of knives, daggers, 
and pistols; some mirrors and fancy articles, but chiefly 
cotton prints of attractive colors and patterns, along with 
a considerable quantity of silken stufis and laces, for the 
dames of Chihuahua and Durango. 

The distribution was not equal to all. The goods, when 
taken out of the wagons, were first seperated into three 
portions of like value. One of these was distributed in 
equal allotments to each of the common braves of the 
band ; a second was reserved for the chief, while the third, 
by a sort of tacit consent, as if from previous understand- 
ing, became the property of a man who was neither brave 
nor chief, but seemed to hold authority over both. 

This man differed from the others, not by the dress he 
wore, for he was in complete Indian costume, nor yet by 
the color of his skin, for he was bronze-black like the rest 
The distinction lay in his having hair on his face — in fact, 
a full beard, with whiskers on the cheek. 

After all, this circumstance could not be considered so 
strange in a band of Comanche or Apache Indians, among 
whom there are many men with Spanish-American blood 
in their veins, some, indeed, Mexicans themselves — pris- 


68 


A SAVAGE JOLLIFICATION, 


oners who from necessity have become connected with the 
tribes, or outlawed criminals who, finding savage life con- 
genial, have taken to it from choice. 

There were two or three others among the captors of 
the caravan who also had hair upon their faces, though 
none so fully furnished with the Caucasian sign of man- 
hood as the personage to whom was appropriated a share 
of the spoils equal to that of the chief. 

The conduct of this man was in other respects equally 
mysterious. In the fight he had taken no part, standing at 
a safe distance as a spectator, only now and then lending 
the aid of his counsel, imparted in low tones to the chief. 

When the conflict was ended, and the caravan in pos- 
session of the victors, he had displayed more energy in 
assisting to extinguish the fire. This having been accom- 
plished, he was seen to stoop over the bodies of the whites 
who had fallen, passing from one to the other, and giving 
to each an examination, as if in their ghastly features he 
expected to identify some old enemy. 

From all, however, one after the other, he seemed to 
turn away disappointed. 

Another act on the part of this personage of like strange 
and mysterious seeming. After the pursuing party had 
returned and made their report, as if to assure himself of its 
correctness, he started off toward the ravine up which the 
chase had gone. He entered the chasm, clambering over 
the carcass of Wilders horse, still there, and keeping on 
up the gorge, reached the platform penetrated by the shaft- 


A SAVAGE JOLLIFICATION. 


69 


like cavern. He saw where the huge bowlder had been 
displaced from its bed, and, after going around the rock, 
and on all sides examining it, as if to assure himself that 
the aperture was all covered, he stood for sometime with a 
grim smile of satisfaction playing upon his savage features. 

Then, giving an ejaculatory grunt, and muttering a word 
or two that sounded like Spanish, he turned away from the 
spot and retraced his steps to the plains. 

All this occurred before the division of the spoils. When 
the distribution was complete, and each warrior had appro- 
priated his own share, a new scene was enacted, in which 
the grotesque held a predominant place. 

There was a barrel of whisky in one of the wagons, still 
more than half filled with the white man’s fire-water. It, 
also, was distributed, and soon fqund its way down the 
throats of the savages. Two-thirds of the tribe became 
intoxicated. Some of them were dead drunk, and lay 
sleeping upon the sand. Others, of stronger stomachs or 
more excitable brains, kept their feet, or, rather, did they 
forsake them by springing to the backs of their horses. 

A sort of frenzied frolic seemed to seize them. They 
forgot their slain comrades yet unburied, and, careering 
around at full gallop, with the scalps of the white men 
poised upon their spears, they whooped, and shouted, and 
laughed, till the cliffs echoed back the sounds of their 
demoniac mirth. 

Some fastened the ends of pieces of cotton goods to the 
tails of their horses, then spurred out upon the plain, till 


70 


A SAVAGE JOLLIFICATION, 


the piece, unwinding itself, played like a streamer behind 
them. Sometimes two horsemen would take each an end 
of the same piece and tie it to the tail of his own steed. 
The two would then gallop in opposite directions until the 
pluck came, and the strip of print would be torn apart 
wherever it was weakest. He who held the larger share 
would be the winner, with the right to appropriate the 
piece. 

It was an original species of gambling, a race riot, a 
true saturnalia of savages. 


A LIVING TOMB. 


71 


CHAPTER X. 

A LIVING TOMB. 

Literally buried alive, as Walt Wilder had expressed it, 
were he and his companion. 

They now understood what had caused the strange noise 
that had puzzled them, the rumbling followed by a crash. 
It was not the accidental falling cf a portion of the cliff, 
as they had been half-supposing, but a deed of diabolical 
design — a huge ,rock rolled by the united strenth of the 
savages, until it rested over the orifice of the shaft, com- 
pletely covering and closing it. 

It might have been done without any certain knowledge 
of their being inside— only to make things sure. It mat- 
tered not to the two men thus cruelly inclosed, for they 
knew that in any case there was no hope of their being 
rescued from what they now believed to be a living tomb. 

That it was such, neither could doubt The guide, 
gifted with herculean strength, had tried to move the 
stone on discovering how it lay. With his feet firmly 
planted in the projections below,- and his shoulder to the 
rock above, he had given a heave that would have lifted a 
loaded wagon from its wheels. 

The stone did not budge the tenth part of an inch. 


7 * 


A LIVING TOMB, 


There was not so much as a motion. He might as suc- 
cessfully have made trial to move a mountain from its 
base. 

‘‘All up wi’ us, I reck’n,” said the guide, as he once 
more let himself down upon the ledge to communicate 
the particulars to his companion. 

Hamersley ascended to see for himself. They could 
only go one at a time. He examined the edge of the 
orifice where the rock rested upon it. He could only do 
so by feeling. Not a ray of light came in on any side, 
and, groping round and round, he could detect neither 
crevice nor void. 

There were weeds and grass, still warm and smoldering, 
the debris of what had been set on fire for their fumiga- 
tion. The rock rested on a bedding of these. Hence the 
exact fit closing eveiy crack and crevice. 

On completing his exploration, Hamersley returned to 
his companion below. 

“ Hopeless 1’^ muttered Wilder, despondingly. 

“No, Walt. I don’t think so yet.” 

The Kentuckian, though young, was a man of remark- 
able intelligence, as well as courage. It needed these 
qualities to be a prairie-merchant — one who commanded 
a caravan. Wilder knew him to be possessed of them, 
in the last equal to himself, in the first far beyond him 

“You think thar’s a chance for us to git out o’ hyar?” 
he said, interrogatively. 

“I think there is, and a likely one. If this cliff-rock 


A LIVING TOMB. 


73 

be only sandstone, or some other equally soft, we can cut 
our way out, under the big stone. ” 

Wagh ! I didn^t think o' that. Thar's sense in what 
ye say. " 

There was a short moment of silence, after which was 
heard a clinking sound, as of a knife-blade being struck 
against a stone. It was Hamersley with his bowie, chip- 
ping off a piece of the rock that formed the sides of the 
shaft. 

The sound was pleasant to the Kentuckian's ear, for it 
was not the hard, metallic ring that would be given out by 
quartz or granite. On the contraiy, the steel struck against 
it with a dull, dead echo, and he could feel that the point 
of the knife easily penetrated. 

Sandstone !" he said, ^‘or something that’ll serve our 
purpose equally as well. Yes, Walt, there’s a good chance 
for - *■ out of this ugly prison. So keep up your 

le. It may cost us two or three days' quar- 
- ips all the better for that. The Indians are 

0 keep about the wagons for some time, 
nough there to amuse them. Our work will 
d deal on what sort of a stone they've rolled 

ckian again climbed up; and soon after the 
■ i crinkling sound, succeeded by the rattling 
ock, as they got detached and came shower- 

3 crown, now uncovered by the loss of both 


74 


A LIVING tomb. 


kerchief and cap, he stood back into the alcove that had 
originally protected them from the stones cast in by the 
Indians. 

From the falling fragments, their size and number, he 
could tell that his comrade was making good way. 

Walt longed to relieve him at his work, and sent up a 
request to this end. But Hamersley returned a refusal, 
speaking in a cautious tone, lest his voice might be borne 
out to the ear of some savage still lingering near. 

For over an hour Wilder waited below, now and then 
casting impatient glances upward. They were only me- 
chanical, for, of course, he could see nothing. But they 
were anxious withal, for the success of his comrade’s 
scheme was yet problematical. 

Suddenly a sight met his eyes which caused him to utter 
an exclamation of joy. 

It was the sight of his comrade’s face — only that. 

But this had in it a world of significance. He could 
not have seen that face without light. Light had been let 
into their rock-bound abode, so late buried in the pro- 
foundest darkness. 

It was but a feeble glimmer, that appeared to . have 
found admission through a tiny crevice under the uge 
copestone, and Hamersley ’s face, close to it, was seen mly 
in faint shadow — fainter from the film of smoke yet strag- 
gling up the shaft. 

Still was it light, beautiful, cheerful light, like some 


A LIVING TOMB. 


75 


shore-t ' i by the storm-tossed mariner amid the 

danger .t-shrouded sea. 

Hamersley had not yet said a word to announce what 
had occurred to cause it. He had suddenly left off chip- 
ping, and was standing at rest, apparently in contempla- 
tion of the soft, silvery ray that was playing so benignly 
upon his features. 

Was it the pleasure of once more beholding what he 
had lately thought he might never see again — the light of 
day? Was it this alone that was holding him still and 
speechless? No, something else, as his comrade learned 
when he rejoined him soon after on the ledge. 

“Walt,’' he said, “I’ve let daylight in, as you see; but 
I find it’ll take a long time to cut a passage out. It’s only 
the weeds I’ve been able to get clear of. The big rock 
runs over at least five feet, and the stone turns out harder 
than I thought for. ” 

These were not cheering words to the ear of Walt 
Wilder. 

“But,” continued Hamersley, his speech changing to a 
more hopeful tone, “ I’ve noticed something that may serve 
better still — perhaps save us all the quarrying. I don’t 
know whether I’m right, but we shall soon see.” 

“What hev ye noticed?” was the question put by 
Wilder. 

“You see there’s still some smoke around us?” 

“Yes, Frank; my eyes tell me that putty plain. I’ve 
nigh rubbed ’em out o’ thar sockets. ” 


76 


A LIVING TOMB. 


‘‘Well, as soon as I had scooped out the crack that let 
in daylight, I noticed that the smoke rushed out as if 
blasted through a pair of bellows. That shows that there's 
a draught somewhere. It can only come from some 
aperture below, acting as a furnace or the funnel of a 
chimney. We must try to get down to the bottom and 
see if there’s such a thing. If there be, who knows but it 
may be big enough to let us out of our prison without 
having to carve our way through the walls, which I feel 
certain would take u5 several days. We must try to get 
down to the bottom.” 

To accede to this request the guide needed no urging; 
and both, one after the other, at once commenced de- 
scending. 

They found no great difficulty in getting down, any 
more than they had already experienced, for the cavity 
continued all the way of nearly the same width, and very 
similar to what it was above the ledge. Near the bottom, 
however, it became abruptly wider by the recession of the 
walls. They were now in a dilemma, for they had reached 
a point where they could go no farther without dropping 
off. It might be ten feet, it might be a hundred ; in any 
case, enough to make the peril appalling. 

Wilder had gone first, and soon bethought himself of a 
test. He unstrung his powder-horn and permitted it to 
drop from his hand, listening attentively. It made scarcely 
any noise ; still he could hear it striking against something 
soft. It was the brush thrown on by the Indians. It did 


A LIVING TOMB.^ 


77 


not seem far below, and the half-burnt stalks would be 
something to break the fall. 

“I’ll chance it,” said Walt; and almost simultaneously 
with the words was heard the bump of his heavy body on 
the litter below. “Ye may jump without fear, Frank. 
’Taint over six feet in the clear.” 

Hamersley obeyed, and both stood at the bottom of the 
chimney, on the hearth-stone where the stalks of the creo- 
site still smoldered. 


78 


OFF AT LAST, 


CHAPTER XI. 

OFF AT LAST. 

Finding plenty of space around them, they scrambled 
off the pile of loose stones and stalks cast down by the 
Indians, and commenced groping their way about. Again 
striking the firm surrounding of rock, they followed it 
searchingly. 

They were not long engaged in their game of blind- 
man’s buff, when the necessity of trusting to the feel came 
abruptly to an end, as if a handkerchief had been sud- 
denly jerked from their eyes. The change was caused by 
a light streaming in through a side gallery into which they 
had strayed. It was at first dim and distant, but soon 
shone upon them with the brilliance of a grand flambeau. 

Following the passage through which it guided them, 
they reached an aperture of irregular roundish shape, about 
the size of the cloister window of a convent. They saw 
at once that it was big enough to admit the passage of 
their bodies. They saw, too, that it was admitting the 
sun, admonishing them that it was still far from night. 

They had brought all their traps down along with them 
— their knives and pistols, with Hamersley’s gun, still care- 
fully kept. But they hesitated about going out. There 


OFF AT LASI. 


79 


could be no difficulty in their doing so, for there was a 
ledge less than three feet under the aperture upon which 
they could find footing. It was not this that caused them 
to hesitate, but the fear of again felling into the hands of 
their implacable foes. 

That these were still upon the plain they had evidence. 
They could hear their yells and whooping, mingled with 
peals of wild, demon-like laughter. It was at the time 
when the fire-water was in the ascendant, and they were 
playing their merr}'- games with the pieces of despoiled 
cotton goods. 

There was danger in going out, but there might be 
more in staying in. The savages might return upon their 
search, and discover this other entrance to the vault. In 
that case they would take still greater pains to close it, and 
besiege them to the point of starvation. 

Both were desirous to escape from a place they had 
lately looked upon as a tomb. 

Still they dared not venture out of it They could not 
retreat by the plain so long as the Indians were upon it 
At night, perhaps, in the darkness. It was Hamersley 
who suggested it 

“No,’' said Walt; “nor at night eyther. It’s moon- 
time, you know, an’ them sharp-eyed Injuns niver all goes 
to sleep thegither. On that sand they'd see us in the 
moonlight most at plain as in the day. Ef we wait at all, 
we’ll hev to stay till they go clar off.” 

Wilder, while speaking, stood close to the aperture. 


8o 


OFF AT LAST. 


looking cautiously out. At that moment, craning his 
neck to a greater stretch, so as to command a better view 
of what lay below, his eye caught sight of an object that 
elicited an exclamation of surprise. 

Durn it !” he said ; “ thar’s my old handkerchief lyin’ 
down thar on the rocks. ” 

It was the red kerchief he had plucked from his head to 
put the pursuers on the wrong track. 

“It’s jest whar I flinged it,” he continued. “I kin 
recognize the place. That gully, then, must be the one 
we didn’t go up.” 

Walt spoke the truth. The decoy was still in the place 
he had set it. The square of soiled and faded cotton had 
failed to tempt the cupidity of the savages, who knew that 
in the wagons they had captured were hundreds of such, 
clean and new, with far richer spoils besides. 

“S’pose we still try that path, Frank. It may lead us 
to the top, arter all. If they’ve been up it, they’ve long 
ago gone down agin. I kin tell by thar yelpin’ around 
the wagons they’ve got holt o’ our corn-juice afore this, an’ 
won’t be so sharg^ in lookin’ arter us. ” 

“Agreed,” said Hamersley. 

Without further delay the two scrambled out through 
the aperture, and creeping along the ledge, once more 
stood in the hollow of the ravine, at the ^oint of its sep- 
aration into the forks that had perplexed them in their 
ascent. 


OFF AT LAST, 


8l 


Again they faced upward, by the slope of the ravine yet 
untried. 

In passing it, Walt laid hold of his handkerchief, and 
replaced it, turban-fashion, on his head. 

“I only wish,” he said, ked as convenient rekiver 
my rifle ; an’, durn me, but I wud tiy ef it war only thar 
still. It ain’t, I know. That air piece is too precious for 
a Injun to pass it. It’s gone back to the wagons. ” 

They could now more distinctly hear the shouts of their 
despoilers ; and as they continued the ascent, the rent in 
the cliff opened between them and the plain, giving them 
a glimpse of what was there going on. 

They could see the savages — some on foot, others on 
horseback — the latter careering round as if engaged in a 
tournament, trailing like ribbons behind their horses long 
strips of cotton prints — the produce of the mills of Lowell 
and Manchester. 

They saw they were roystering, wild with triumph and 
maddened with the fire-water they had found in the 
wagons. 

Though they be drunk, we mnstn’t stay h/ar so nigh 
’em,” muttered Walt. “I allers like to put space atween 
me an’ sech as them. They moot git some whims into 
thar heads, an’ come this ways. They’ll take any amount 
o’ trouble to raise har, an’ they may be grievin’ that they 
hain’t got ourn yit, an’ mout think they’d hev another try 
for it. As the night’s bound to be a moonef, we can’t git 
too fur from ’em. So let’s on as quick’s we kin.” 


82 


OFF AT LAST. 


“On, then 1” said Hamersley, ascending; and the next 
moment the two were rapidly ascending the gorge, Wilder 
leading the way. 

This time they were more fortunate. The ravine sloped 
on up to the summit of the cliff, opening upon a level 
plain. They reached this without passing any point that 
could bring them under the eyes of the Indians. 

They could still hear their shouts of triumph and in- 
toxication ; but as they receded from the crest of the cliff, 
these grew fainter and fainter, until they found them- 
selves fleeing over an open table-land, bounded above by 
the sky, all around them still as death — still as the heart 
of a desert. 


DEPARTURE OF THE PLUNDERERS. 83 


CHAPTER XII. 

DEPARTURE OF THE PLUNDERERS. 

On the day after the capture of the caravun, the Indians, 
having consumed all the whisky found in the wagons, and 
become comparatively sober, prepared to move off. 

The captured goods, made up into convenient parcels, 
were packed upon mules and spare horses, of which they 
had plenty, having come prepared for such a sequel to 
their attack upon the travelers. 

The warriors, having given interment to their dead 
comrades, leaving the scalped and mutilated corpses of 
the white men to the vultures and wolves, mounted and 
marched off. 

Before leaving. the scene of their sanguinary exploits, 
they had drawn the wagons into a close clump and set 
fire to them — partly from a wanton instinct of destruction, 
partly from the pleasure of beholding a great bonfire, 
but also with some thought that it might be as well thus 
to blot out all traces of a tragedy for which the Americans 

of whom even these freebooters felt dread — might some 

day call them to account. 

They did not all go together, but separated into two 
parties on the spot where they had passed the night. They 


84 DEPARTURE OF THE PLUNDERERS. 

were parties, however, of very unequal size, one of them 
numbering only four individuals. The other, which con- 
sisted of the main body of the plunderers, was, as Walt 
Wilder had conjectured, a band of the middle Comanches, 
known as the Tenawas, under their chief, the Horned 
Lizard. These, turning eastward, struck off toward the 
head-waters of the Big Witchita, upon which and its tribu- 
taries lies their customary roving-ground. 

The lesser party went off in almost the opposite direc- 
tion, south-westerly, leaving the Llano Estacado on their 
left, springing in, crossed the Rio Pecos at a point below 
and outside the furthest frontier settlement of New Mexico, 
toward the prairies. Then, shaping their course nearly 
due south, they skirted the spurs of the Sierra Blanca, that 
in this latitude extend east toward the Pecos. Their foot- 
steps were now turned toward a depression seen in the 
Sierra Blanca, as if with the intention to cross the moun- 
tains toward the valley of the Del Norte. They might 
have reached the valley by a trail well known and often 
traveled, but it appeared as if this was just what they 
wanted to avoid. 

One of the men composing this party was he already 
remarked upon as having a beard and whiskers. A second 
was the individual spoken of as more slightly furnished 
with these appendages, while the other two were absolutely 
beardless. 

All four were of deep bronze complexion, and, to all 
appearance, pure-blooded Indians. That the two with 


DEPARTURE OF THE PLUNDERERS, 85 

hirsute signs spoke to one another in Spanish was no sure 
evidence of their not being Indians. It was within the 
limits of New Mexican territory, where there are many 
Indians who converse in Castilian, and know no other 
language. 

He with the whiskered cheeks, the chief of the quar- 
tette, as well as the tallest of them, had not left behind 
the share of the plunder that had been allotted to him. It 
was still in the train, borne on the backs of seven strong 
mules, heavily loaded. These formed a pack-train, guarded 
and driven by the two beardless men of the party, who 
seemed to understand mule-driving as thoroughly as if 
they had been trained to it. 

The other two took no trouble with the pack animals, 
but rode on in front, conversing in a somewhat jocular 
manner. 

The bearded man was astride a splendid black horse, 
not a small Mexican mustang like that of his companion, 
but a large, sinewy animal, that showed the breed of Ken- 
tucky. He was the same steed Frank Hamersley had been 
compelled to leave behind in that rapid rush for the crevice 
in the clilf. 

‘‘This time, Roblez, we’ve made a pretty fair haul of 
it,” remarked he who bestrode the black horse. “What 
with the silks and laces — to say nothing of this splendid 
horse — I think I may say that our time has not been 
thrown away.” 

“Yours hasn’t, anyhow. My share won’t be much.” 


86 DEPARTURE OF THE PLUNDERERS. 

“Come, come, don’t talk in that way. You should be 
satisfied with a share proportioned to your rank. Besides, 
you must remember, the man who puts down the stake 
has a right to draw the winnings. But for me there would 
have been no spoils to share. Isn’t that so 

This truth seemed to produce its impression upon the 
mind of Roblez ; he made response in the affirmative. 

“Well, I’m glad you acknowledge it,” pursued the 
rider of the black. “Let there be no disputes between 
us; for you know, Roblez, we can’t afford to quarrel. 
You shall have a liberal percentage on this lucky venture ; 
I promise it. By the by, how much do you think the 
plunder ought to realize ?” 

“Well,” responded Roblez, restored to a cheerful humor, 
“if properly disposed of in El Paso or Chihuahua, the lot 
ought to fetch from fifteen to twenty thousand dollars. I 
see some silk velvet among the stuff that would sell high 
if you could only get it shown to the damsels of Durango 
or Zacatecas. One thing sure, you’ve got a good third of 
the caravan stock.” 

“Ha, ha, ha! More than half in value. Horned 
Lizard went in for bulk. I let him have it to his heart’s 
content. He thinks more of those cheap cotton prints, 
with their red, and green, and yellow flowers, than all 
the silk ever spun since the days of Mother Eve. Ha, 
ha, ha!” 

The laugh, in which Roblez heartily joined, was still 
echoing on the air, as the two horsemen entered a pass 


D OF THE PLUNDERERS, 87 

leading t = - . nountains. It was the depression 

in the m( ; ' seen shortly after parting with the 

Horned ' is band. It is a pass, rugged with 

rock and . less, here and there winding about, 
and som nc • . ued through canons or clefts barely 
wide eno • g. «ray to the mules with the loads on 
their backs. 

For all this the animals of the travelers seemed to jour- 
ney along it without difficulty, only the American horse 
showing any signs of awkwardness. All the others went 
as if they had trodden it before. 

Just before sunset the party came to a halt, not in the 
defile itself, but in one of still more rugged aspect that led 
into the side of the mountain. In this there was no trace 
or sign of travel, no appearance of its having ever been 
entered by man or animal. 

Yet the horse ridden by Roblez, and the pack-mules 
coming after, entered with as free a step as if going into 
a well-known inclosure. True the chief of the party, 
mounted on the Kentuckian steed, had gone on before 
them, but this scarcely accounted for their confidence. 

Up this interior gorge they rode until they had reached 
its end. They was no outlet, for it was a natural court, 
such as are often found among the mountains of Mexico. 

At its extremity, where it narrowed to a width of about 
fifty feet, lay a huge bowlder of granite that appeared to 
block up the path, though there was evidently space be- 
tween it and the cliff, rising vertically behind it. 


88 DEPARTURE OF THE PLUNDERERS. 

The obstruction was only apparent, and did not cause 
the leading savage to make even a temporary stop. At 
one side there was an opening large enough to permit the 
passage of a horse, and into this he rode, Roblez follow- 
ing, and also the mules in a string one after the other. 

Behind the bowlder was an open space of a few square 
yards, and extent enough to give room for the turning of 
a horse. The savage chief turned his horse and headed 
him direct for the cliff, not with the intention to dash his 
brains against the rock, but to force him into a cavern, 
the entrance of which was observed in the side of the 
precipice, dark and dismal as the door of an inquisitorial 
prison. 

The horse snorted, and shied back ; but the ponderous 
Mexican spur, with its long, sharp rowel-points, soon 
drove him in, where he was followed by the mustang of 
Roblez and the mules, the latter going in as uncon- 
cernedly as if entering a stable whose stalls were familiar 
to them. 


A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 


89 


CHAPTER XIII. 

\ ’ A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 

It was well on in the afternoon of the following day 
before the four spoil-laden savages, who had gone into the 
cavern, again showed themselves outside. Then came 
they filing forth, one after another, in the same order as 
they had entered, but all so changed in appearance that 
no one seeing them come out of the cave could by any 
possibility have recognized them as the same men who 
had the night before gone into it. 

Even their animals had undergone some transformation. 
The horses were differently caparisoned, the flat American 
saddle having been removed from the back of the grand 
Kentucky steed, and replaced by one of Mexican pattern. 
The mules, too, were rigged in a different manner, each 
having the regular pack-saddle, while the spoils, no longer 
loose, carelessly tied-up bundles, were made up into neat 
packs, as goods in regular transportation. 

The two men who conducted them had altogether a 
changed appearance. Their skins were still of the same 
color — the pure bronze-black of the Indian — but, instead 
of the eagle's feathers lately sticking up above their 
crowns, both had their heads now covered with simple 


90 


A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 


Straw hats, while sleeveless coats of coarse woollen stuff, 
with stripes running transversely, shrouded their shoul- 
ders, their limbs having free play in white cotton drawers 
of ample width. A leathern belt, and apron of reddish- 
colored sheepskin, tanned, completed the costume. 

But the change in the two other men — the chief and 
him addressed as Roblez — was of a far more striking kind. 
They had entered the cave as Indians, warriors of the first 
rank, plumed, painted, and adorned with all the devices 
and insignia of savage heraldry. They came out of it as 
white men, wearing the costume of well-to-do town 
traders, broad glazed hats upon their heads, cloth jackets 
and trousers, the latter having the seats and the inside of 
the legs protected with a lining of stamped leather. Boots, 
with heavy spurs upon their feet, crape sashes around the 
waist, machetes (large knives) strapped along the flap? of 
their saddles, and blankets resting folded over the croup, 
gave the finishing touch to their traveling equipment. 
These, with the well-appointed mules, made the party one 
o ■ peaceful merchants transporting their merchandise from 
town to town. 

On coming out of the cave, C.e leader, looking fresh 
and bright from his change of toilet, and the late purifica- 
tion of his skin, glanced up toward the sky, as if to consult 
the sun for telling him the hour. At the same time he 
drew a gold watch from his vest-pocket and looked also at 
that. 

“We’ll be just at the right time, Roblez,” he said. 


A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 


91 

“Six hours yet before sunset. That will get us out into 
the valley and in the river road, where we’re not likely to 
meet any one after night in these days of Indian alarms. 
Four more will bring us to Albuquerque, long after our 
sleepy town-folks have gone to bed. We’ve let it go late 
enough anyhow, and mustn’t delay here any longer. ” 

All started together down the gorge, the speaker, as 
before, leading the way, Roblez next, and the men. with 
their laden mules strung out in the rear. 

Soon after they re-entered the mountain defile, and once 
heading north-westward, silently continued their journey. 

The sun was just sinking over the far western mountains 
when the precipitous walls of the Sierra Blanca, opening 
wide on each side ofthe defile, disclosed to the spoil-laden 
party a view of the broad level plain known as the valley 
of the Del Norte. 

Soon after they had descended to it, and in the midst of 
night, with a starry sky overhead, were traversing the level 
road upon which the broad wheel-tracks of rude country 
carts told of the proximity of settlements. It was a coun-> 
try road, leading out from the foot-hills of the Sierra to a 
crossing of the river near^fie village of Tome. 

Turning northward above Tome, the white robbers, late 
disguised as Indians, pursued their course toward the town 
of Albuquerque. Any one meeting them- on the road 
would have mistaken them for a party of traders on their r 
way from the Rio Abujo to the capital of Sant.* Fe. But 
they went not so far. Albuquerque was the goal of their 


92 


A STRANGE TRANSFORMA TION. 


journey, though on arriving there, which they did a little 
after midnight, they made no stop in the town, nor any 
noise to disturb the inhabitants, at that hour asleep. 

Passing silently through the unpaved streets, they kept 
on a little farther. A large house, or hacienda, tree- 
shaded, and standing outside the suburbs, was the stop- 
ping-place they were aiming at, and toward this they 
directed their course. There was a cupola upon the roof, 
the same beside which Colonel Miranda and his American 
guest, just twelve months before, had stood smoking their 
cigars. 

As then, there was a guard of soldiers within the cov- 
ered entrance, with a sentry outside the gate. He was 
leaning against the postern, his form in the darkness just 
distinguishable against the gray-white of the wall. 

“Who goes there?” he hailed, as the two horsemen 
rode up, the hoof-strokes startling him out of a half- 
drunken doze. 

“The colonel in command,” responded the tall man, 
in a tone that told of authority. 

It proved to be countersign sufficient, the speaker’s 
voice being instantly recognized. 

The sentry, bringing his piece to the salute, permitted 
the horsemen to pass without further parley, as also the 
entire train, all entering and disappearing within the dark 
door-way, just as they had made entrance into the mouth 
of the mountain cavern. 

While listening to the hoof-strokes of the animals ring- 


A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 


93 


ing on the pavement inside, the sentinel had his reflections 
and conjectures. He wondered where the colonel could 
have been to keep him so long absent from his command, 
and he had perhaps other conjectures of an equally per» 
plexing nature. They did not much trouble nim, how- 
ever. What mattered it to him how the commandant 
employed his time, or where it was spent, so long as he 
got his rations. He had them with due regularity, and, 
with this consoling reflection, he re-wrapped hi& yellow 
cloak around him, leaned back against the wall, and soon 
after succumbed to the state of semi-watchfulness from 
which the unexpected advent had aroused him. 

*‘Ah, Roblez!’' said the colonel, to his subordinate, 
when, after looking to the storage of the plunder, the two 
sat together in a well-furnished apartment of the hacienda, 
with a table, decanter, and glasses between them, “it's 
been a long, tedious tramp, hasn’t it? Well, we've not 
wasted our time, nor had our toil for nothing. Come, fill 
your glass again, and let us drink to our mercantile adven- 
ture. Here's that in the disposal of our goods we may be 
as successful as in their purchase. ” 

Right merrily the lieutenant refilled his glass and re- 
sponded to the toast of his superior officer. 

“I suspect, Roblez,” continued the colonel, “that you 
have been all the while wondering how I came to know 
about this caravan whose spoil is to enrich us, its route, 
the exact time of its arrival, the strength of its defenders. 


94 


A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 


everything. You think our friend, the Horned Lizard, 
gave me the information. ” 

“No, I don’t, since that could not well be. HoW was 
Horned Lizard to know himself— that is, in time to have 
sent word to you ? In truth, colonel, I am, as you say, in 
a quandary about all that I cannot guess at the explana- 
tion.” 

“This would give it to you, if you could read. But I 
know you cannot. Never mind ; I shall read it for you. 

As the colonel was speaking, he had taken from the 
drawer of a desk that stood close by, a sheet of paper, 
folded in the form of a letter. It was one, though it bore 
no postmark. Tor all that, it looked as if it had traveled 
far, perchance carried by hand. It had, in truth, come all 
the way across the prairies. Its superscription was : 

“ El Coronel Miranda, commandante del distrito mili- 
tario de Albuquerque, Nuevo Mexico.” 

Its contents, also in Spanish, translated read thus : 

“My Dear Colonel Miranda:— I am about to carry out the 
promise made to you at our parting. I have my mercantile enter- 
prise in a forward state of readiness for a start over the plains. My 
caravan will not be a large one, about six or seven wagons, with less 
than a score cf men ; but the goods I take are valuable. I intend 
taking departure from the frontier town of Van Buren, in the State 
of Arkansas, and shall go by a new route lately discovered by one of 
our prairie -traders, that leads part way along the Canadian River, by 
you called ‘ Rio de la Canada,’ and skirting the great plains of the 
Llano Estacado at its upper end. This southern route makes us 
more independent of the season, so that I shall be able to travel in 


A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION 


95 


the fall. If nothing occurs to delay me on the route, I shall reach 
New Mexico about the middle -of November, when I anticipate 
renewing those relations of a pleasant friendship in which you have 
been all the giver and I all the receiver. T send this by one of the 
spring caravans, starting from Independence for Santa Fe. In the 
hope that it will safely reach you^ I subscribe myself, dear Colonel 
Miranda, Your grateful friend, 

“Francis Hamersley.’* 

“Well, Roblez,” said his colonel, as he folded the letter 
and returned it to the desk, “do you comprehend matters 
any clearer?” 

“Clear as the sun,” was the reply of the lieuten- 
ant, whose admiration for the executive talents of his 
superior officer, along with the bumpers he had imbibed, 
had now exalted his fancy to a poetical elevation. “I see 
it all, every move in the game. It’s a splendid hit, worthy 
of even the great Santa Anna.” 

“A greater stroke than you yet think it, for it is double, 
two birds killed with the same stone. Let us again drink 
to it.” 

The glasses were once more filled, and once more did 
the associated bandits toast the nefarious enterprise they 
had so successfully accomplished. 

Then Roblez rose to go to the barracks, where he had 
his place of sleeping and abode, bidding good-night to his 
colonel. 

The latter also bethought him of bed; and, taking a 
lamp from the table, commenced moving toward his sleep- 
ing chamber. 


96 


A STRANGE TRANSFORMATION. 


On coming opposite a picture suspended against the 
wall — the portrait of a beautiful girl — he stopped in front, 
and for a moment gazed at it, then into a mirror that 
stood close by. As if there was something in the glass 
that reflected its shadow into his very soul, the expression 
of exultant triumph, so late depicted upon his face, was 
all at once swept from it, giving place to a look of black 
bitterness. 

*^One is gone,” he said, in a half-muttered soliloquy; 
“one part of the stain wiped out ; thank Heaven for that. 
But the other ; and she — where, where 

And, with these words, he staggered on toward his 
chamber. 


THE STAKED PLAIN.'^ 


97 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE “staked plain.” 

The tract of territory known as the “llano Estacado,” 
or, Staked Plain, rises above the surrounding country,^ith 
a well-marked boundary, either a precipitous slope or a 
sheer verticle escarpment. Its elevation has been variously 
stated from five hundred to two thousand feet, the diversity 
of statement due partly to guess estimates, and partly to its 
having been viewed at different points. Eight hundred 
feet will be about the average height of its surface above 
the surrounding prairies, these again having about twice 
that elevation above the level of the sea. 

The Staked Plain extends longitudinally between what 
in Hispano-Mexican times were the provinces of Nuevo- 
Mexico and Texas, having tor their respective capitals 
Santa Fe and San Antonio de Bejar. Between these there 
was a necessary intercourse, both of a mercantile and mili- 
tary character. This was carried on by a route that ran in 
a slanting direction across the Staked Plain, a little to the 
north of its center, striking on the Texan side the head- 
water ol the Colorado. To avoid straying, from what the 
desert drift prevented from becoming a trace, the vice- 
regal government took, the precaution to have posts or 


98 


THE "STAKED PLAIN." 


stakes set up, at such a distance apart as to be seen from 
one another. 

Hence the name of this strange tract — El Llano Esia- 
cddo, or “ The Staked Plain ” — a title it is likely to bear 
to the end of time, as well as the trackless sterility which 
was the cause of its being bestowed. 

The place where the American caravan had been at- 
tacked was in the bed of a dry water-course, resembling 
a sand-plain. In time of rain only was there water in it, 
when it became a confluent of the Goo-al-pah, or Cana- 
dian river. Directly over it frowned the precipitous bluff, 
up which the young prairie-merchant and his guide, after 
their series of hair-breadth escapes, had succeeded in climb- 
ing. It was the scarped edge of a spur of the Staked 
Plain, and it was into this sterile tract they were now 
fleeing. 

A glance was sufficient to satisfy them that only by dis- 
tance could they obtain concealment. Far as the eye 
could reach, the surface appeared a perfect level, without 
shrub or tree. There was not cover enough to give hiding- 
place to a hare. Although now on a full run, and with 
no appearance of being pursued, they were far from being 
confident of escaping. 

At short intervals the great brown head of the guide 
swept over his left shoulder, as he cast anxious glances 
behind him. He was all the more anxious on observing 
— which he now did — that his fellow-fugitive flagged in his 
pace, and showed signs of giving out. 


THE ^‘STAJsTED PL, 


99 


With a quick comprehension, and without any questions 
asked, the guide understood the reason. In the smoke- 
cloud that had covered their retreat from the corraled 
wagons, and afterward in the somber shadow of the chasm 
and the deeper darkness of the cave, he had not observed 
what now, in the bright glare of the sun, was too plainly 
apparent — that the garments of his comrade was saturated 
with blood ! 

Hamersley had scarcely noticed it himself, and his at 
tion was now called to it, less from perceiving any a 
pain than that he began to feel faint and feeble. Blood 
was oozing through the breast of his shirt, down the legs 
of his pantaloons, and over his boots; and the fountain 
from which it proceeded was fast disclosing itself by an 
aching in his side that increased as he ran on. 

A moment's pause to examine it. When the vest and 
shirt were torn aside, it was seen that a bullet had passed 
through his left side, causing only a flesh-wound, but cut- 
ting an artery in its course. Scratched and cut in several 
other places, for the time equally as painful, he had not 
given heed to this more serious wound. 

It was not mortal, nor likely to prove so. The guide 
and hunter, like most of his calling, was a rough, prac- 
tical surgeon ; and after giving, it a hurried examination, 
pronounced it “only a scratch,” and urged his companion 
onward. 

Again starting, they- proceeded at the same quick pace; 
but before they had made another mile, the wounded man 


lOO 


THE ^^STAKED PLAIN:^ 


felt his weakness again overcoming him, and the rapid run 
was succeeded by a slow dog-trot, soon after decreasing to 
a walk, and at length ending in a dead stop. 

“I can go no farther, Walt — not if all the demons of 
darkness were at my heels. I’ve done my best. If the 
savages come after, you keep on and leave me. ” 

“Niver, Frank Hamersley — niver! Walt Wilder ain’t 
the man to sep’rate from a kimrade, an' leave him in a fix 
that way. If you must pull up, so do this child. An’ I 
see ye must — thar’s no behelp for it. ” 

‘‘I could not go a step farther.” 

‘‘Enuff! But don’t let’s stan’ to be seed miles off. 
Squat’s the word. Down on yur stomach, like a toad 
under a harrer. Thur’s jest a resemblance o’ kiver hyur 
’mong these tussocks o’ buffler grass ; an’ this child ain’t 
the most onconspicerousest objeck on this plain. Let’s 
down on our breast ribs, an’ lay flat as pancakes. ” 

Suiting his actions to his words, and by way of example, 
the guide brought his tall figure to the ground in a hori- 
zontal extension of at least six feet six inches. 

Hamersley, already tottering, dropped down by his 
side ; as he did so, leaving the plain, far as the eye could 
reach, without salient object to intercept the vision, any 
more than might have been seen on the surface of a sleep- 
ing ocean. 

It was in favor of the fugitives that the day had now 
well declined ; and they had not remained very long before 


THE ^^STAKED PLAIN:^ 


lOI 


the sun, sinking below the western horizon, gave them an 
opportunity of once more getting upon their feet. 

They did so, glad to escape from a position whose 
restraint had become exceedingly irksome. They had 
suffered from the hot atmosphere, rising like caloric from 
the parched plain. But now that the sun had gone down, 
a cool breeze began to play over its surface, fanning them 
to a fresh energy. Besides, the night closing over them 
and the moon not yet up, removed the necessity for lying 
any longer in concealment, and they could proceed on- 
ward without fear. 

Hamersley felt as if fresh blood had been infused into 
his veins, and he was ready to spring to his feet at the 
same time with his comrade. 

“ Frank, d’ye think ye kin go a little furrer now?” was ^ 
the interrogatory put by the hunter. 

“ Yes, Walt — miles farther,” was the response. I feel 
as if I could walk across the grandest spread of prairie.” 

Good !” ejaculated the guide. “I’m glad to hear you 
talk that way. If we kin yit git a few more miles atween 
us an’ them yelpin’ savages, we may hev a chance o’ sal- 
vation yit. The wust o’ the thing is that we don’t know 
which way to go. It’s a toss up ’tween ’em. If we turn 
back torst the Canadyan, we may meet ’em agin, an’ right 
in the teeth. Westart lie the settlements o’ the Del Norte, 
but we won’t come on the same Injuns by goin’ that 
direckshun. Southart this staked plain hain’t no endin’ 
till ye git down to the Grand River, below its big bend, 


102 


THE STAKED PLAINS 


and that ain’t to be thort o’. By striking east, a little 
southart, we mout reach the head sources o’ the Loozyany 
Red ; an’ oncest on a stream o’ runnin’ water, this chile 
kin ginerally navigate down it — provided he hev a rifle, 
powder, an’ a bullet or two in his pouch. Thank the Lord, 
we’ve stuck to yourn through the thick an’ the thin o’t. 
Ef we hedn’t, we mout jest as well lie down agin an' make 
a die o’t at oncest. ” 

*‘Go which way you please, Walt; you know best. I 
am ready to follow you, and I think I shall be able. ” 

^‘Wal, at anyhow, we’d best be movin’ off from hyar. 
If we can’t go a great ways under kiver o’ the night, I 
reckon we kin put enny puraira atween ourselves an’ these 
Injuns to make sure agin them spyin’ us in the mornin’. 
So let’s start south-eastard, an’ try for the ’sources o’ the 
Red. Thar’s that ole beauty o’ the north star that’s been 
my friend an’ guide many’s the good time. Thar it is, 
the handle o’ the plow, or the great bar, as I’ve 
bee..' air colleCkshun o’ stars frekwently called. We’ve 
only to i;eep h on our left, a leetle torst the back o’ the 
shoulder, an then we’re boun’ to bring out on some o’ the 
head forks o’ the Red — if we ken only last long enuf to 
reach ’em. Durn it, thar’s no danger, an’ anyhow thar’s 
no help for it but try. Come on. ” 

So saying the hunter started forward, not in full stride, 
as he would otherwise have done, but timing his pace to 
suit the feeble steps of his disabled companion. 


A LILIPUTIAN FOREST, 


103 


CHAPTER XV. 

A LILIPUTIAN FOREST. 

Guiding their course by the stars, the fugitives con- 
tinued on, no longer going in a run, or even in a very 
rapid walk. Despite the resolution with which he endea- 
vored to nerve himself, the wounded man was still too 
weak to make much progress, and they advanced but 
slowly over the plain. 

Nor did they proceed a very great distance before again 
coming to a halt, though far enough to feel sure that, 
standing erect, they could not be seen by any one who 
might ascend the cliff at their place of departure from it. 
But they had also reached that which offered them a 
chance of cover — in short, a forest. It was a forest not 
discernable at more than a mile’s distance, for the trees 
that composed it were ‘‘skin oaks,” the tallest not rising 
to a height of over eighteen inches above the surface of 
the ground. Eighteen inches was enough to conceal the 
body of a man, lying in a prostrate attitude, and, as the 
liliputian trees grew thick as jimson weeds, the cover 
would be a secure one. 

Becoming convinced that there was no longer a likeli- 
hood of their being pursued across the plain, the hunter 


A LILIPUTIAN FOREST. 


A' • 

104 

proposed that they should again stop, this time to obtain 
sleep, which, in their anxiety during their previous period 
of rest, they had not thought of. 

Walt made the proposal out of consideration for his 
comrade, who for sometime, as he saw, had been evidently 
laboring to keep up with him. 

“ We kin lie by till sun-up,” he said ; **an' then, ef we 
see any sign o’ pursoot, kin stay hyar till the sun go down 
agin. These slim oaks will gie us kiver enuff ; squatted, 
there’ll be no chance o’ thar diskiverin’ us, unless they 
stumble right a-top o’ us. ” 

His companion was not in the mood to make objection, 
and the two laid themselves along the earth, the miniature 
forest not only giving them the protection of a screen, but 
a soft bed, as their tiny trunks and leaf-laden branches 
became spread beneath their bodies. 

They staid awake only long enough to give Hamers- 
le/s wound such dressing as the circumstances would per- 
mit, and then both sank into slumber. 

With the young prairie-merchant it was neither deep 
nor profound. Horrid visions floated before his wrapt 
senses — scenes of red carnage — causing him ever and anon 
to awake with a start, once or twice with a cry that also 
aroused his companion. 

Otherwise Walt Wilder would have^slept as soundly as 
if reposing on the couch of a log-cabin a thousand miles 
removed from any Indian danger. It was no new thing 
for him to go to sleep with the yell of the savage sounding 


A LILIPUTTAN FOREST. ] 


105 


in his ears. For a period of over twenty years he had 
daily or nightly stretched his huge frame along mountain 
slope or level prairie, and often with far more danger of 
having his “hair raised” before standing erect again. 

For ten years Walt had belonged to the Texas Rangers, 
that strange organization that had existed ever since 
Stephen Austin had first planted his colony on the terri- 
tory of the “Lone Star.” 

If on this night the ex-ranger was more than usually 
restless, 'twas from anxiety about his disabled comrade, 
and the state of his nervous system, stirred to feverish 
excitement by the terrible conflict through which they had 
just passed. Notwithstanding all, he slumbered in long 
spells, at times snoring like an alligator. 

At no time did he stand in need of so much sleep, even 
after the most protracted toil. Six hours was his usual 
daily or nocturnal dose ; and, as the gray dawn began to 
glimmer over the tops of the slim oaks, he sprang to his 
feet, shook the dew from his shoulders like a startled stag, 
and then bent down to examine the condition of his 
comrade. 

“Don’t ye git up yit, Frank,” he said. “We mustn't 
start till we hev a clur view all roun’, an’ be sure there’s 
nary redskin in sight. Then we kin take the sun a little 
on our left cheek an’ make tracks to the south-eastart. 
How is’t wi’ ye, Frank.?” 

“I feel weak as water; still I think I can travel a little 
farther. ” 


I 06 A LILIFUTIAN FOREST. 

*‘V/al, well go slow. Ef there’s none o’ the skunks 
arter us, we kin take our own time. Do yo*d know, 
Frank, I’ve been hevin’ a dream ’bout them Injuns as 
attacked us?” 

"‘A dream? So have I. It is not strange for either of 
us^to dream of them. What was yours, Walt?” 

^‘Kewrus enuff mine war, though it wan’t all a dream. 
I reckin I war moren half awake when I tuk to thinkin’ 
about ’em, an’ t’war somethin’ I seed durin’ the skrim- 
mage. Didn’t you observe nothin’ queer ?” 

Rather say nothing that was not that way. It was all 
queer enough, and terrible, too. ” 

‘^That this child will admit wi’ full freedom. But I’ve 
fit redskin afore in all sorts and shapes, yit never sech red- 
skin as them.” 

‘‘In what did they differ from other savages? I saw 
nothing. ” 

“But I did; leastway, I suspect I did. Didn’t you note 
’mong the lot two or three that had har on thar faces ?” 

“Yes, I noticed that; I thought nothing of it. It’s 
common among the Comanches, and other tribes of the 
Mexican territory, many of whom are of mixed breed, 
from the captive Mexican women they took long ago. ” 

“ The har I seed didn’t look like it grew on the face o’ 
a mixed blood. ” 

“But there’s also pure white men among them — out- 
laws who have run away from civilization and turned 
renegades, as also captives they have taken who become 


A LILIPUTIAN FORi 

Indianized, as the Mexicans call it. No doubt it wa^ , 
some of «iese we have seen.” 

“Wal, you may be right, Frank. Sartint thar war one 
I seed wi' a beerd most as big’s my own, only it war black. 
His hide war black, too, or nigh to it ; but ef that skunk 
wan’t white underneath a coatin’ o’ charcoal an’ vermilion, 
then Walt Wilder don’t know a Kristyan from a heethin. 
’Tain’t no use speklatin on’t now. White, black, yellar, 
or a red, they’ve put us afoot on the praira, an kum darned 
nigh wipin’ us out altogether. We’ve got a fair chance 
o’ goin’ under yit, eyther from thirst or the famishment o’ 
empty stomaks. I am hungry enuff to eat a coyoat. 
Thar’s a heavy row afore us, Frank, an’ we mus’ strengthen 
our hearts to hoein o’ it. Wal, the sun’s up, an’ as thar 
don’t appear to be any obstruckshun, I reckin we’d best be 
makin’ tracks.” 

Hamersley slowly and somewhat reluctantly rose to his 
feet. He still felt himself in a poor condition for travel- 
ing. But to stay there was to die ; and, bracing himself 
to the effort, he stepped out, side by side with his huge 
companion. 


r 


.UGGLING AMONG THE SAGES, 


CHAPTER XVI. 

STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES. 

It is the fifth day after forsaking their couch among the 
skin-oaks, and the two fugitives are still traveling upon 
the Staked Plain. They have not made more than sixty 
miles to the south-eastward, ancf have not yet struck any 
of the streams leading out to the lower level of the Texan 
champaign. 

Their progress has been slow. The wounded man, in- 
stead of recovering strength, has but grown feebler ; his 
steps are now unequal and tottering. In addition to the 
loss of blood, something else has aided to disable him — 
the fierce cravings of hunger, and the yet more insufferable 
agony of thirst. His companion is similarly afflicted ; if 
not to as great a degree, enough to make him almost 
stagger in his steps. Neither* has had any water since the 
last drop drank amid the wagons before commencing the 
fight ; and since then, in fervent sun shining daily down 
upon them, no food save crickets caught on the plain, an 
occasional horned frog, and some fruits of the opuntia. 
cactus — these last obtained sparingly. 

Hunger has made sad havoc with both. Already at the 
end of the sixth day they are skeletons — more like specters 
than men. 


STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES. 


109 


And the scene around them is in keeping. The plain, 
far as the eye can reach, is covered with artemisia^ whose 
horny foliage, in close contact at the tops, displays a con- 
tinuation of surface, like a vast winding-sheet spread over 
the world. 

Across this fall the shadows of the two men, propor- 
tioned to respective heights. The shadows of the two men 
are not the only ones that move over the silvery surface of 
the artemisia. There, too, are outlined the wings of birds 
— large birds, with sable plumage and red, naked necks, 
whose species both well knew. They are the zopiloies — 
the buzzard-vultures of Mexico. A score of such shadows 
are flitting over the sage ; a score of the birds are wheeling 
in the air above. 

It is a sight to pain the traveler, even when seen at a 
distance. Over his own head it may inspire him with 
distress and fear, for he cannot fail to read in it a forecast 
of his fate. 

The birds were following the men just as they would 
a wounded buffalo or stricken deer. They soared in a 
circle above them, at times swooping portentously near. 
They did not believe them to be specters. Skeletons, as 
the travelers appeared, there would be a banquet upon 
their bones. 

Now and then Walt Wilder cast a glance up toward 
them. It was anxious, though he took care to hide his 
anxiety from his comrade. He cursed them, but not in 
speech — only in his heart, and silently. 


I 

( , 

I, STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES. 

For a time the wearied wayfarers kept on without ex- 
changing a w’ord. Hitherto consolation had come from 
the ranger ; but he seemed to have spent- his last phrase, 
and was himself now despairing. 

In Hamersley’s heart hope had been gradually dying 
out as his strength became further exhausted. At length 
the latter gave out, the former at the same time becoming 
extinguished. 

‘'No farther, Walt!” he exclaimed, coming to a halt. 

“ I can’t go a step farther. There’s a fire in my throat that 
chokes me — something grasps me within. It is dragging 
me to the ground.” 

The hunter stopped too. He made no attempt to urge 
his comrade on. He saw it would be idle. 

“Go yourself,” Hamersley added, gasping out the words. 
“You have yet strength left, and may reach water. I can- 
not; but I can die. I’m not afraid to die. Leave me, 
Walt — leave me.” 

“Never!” was the response, in a hoarse, husky voice, 
but firm as if it came from the thjoat of a speaking- 
trumpet. 

“You will — you must! Why should two lives be sacri- 
ficed for one.? Yours may still be saved. Take the gun 
along with you. You may find something. Go, com- 
rade — friend, go !” 

Again the same response, in the same firm tone. 

‘ ‘ I said when we war in the fight, ” added the colossus, 
“and afterward gallopin' thro’ the smoke, that livin’ or 


STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES. i- 

• 

dyin’ we’d got to stick thegither. Didn't I say that, FranK 
Hamersley? I repeat it now. Ef we go under hyar in 
the middle o’ this sage bush, Walt Wilder air agoin’ to 
wrap his karkiss in a corner o’ the same windin’-sheet. 
Thar ain’t much strength left in his ole skeleton now, but 
enuf, I reckon, to keep them buzzards off for a good spell 
yit. They don’t pick our bones till I’ve thinned thar 
count, anyhow. Ef we air to be rubbed out, it’ll be by 
the chokin’ o’ thirst, an’ not the gripin’ o’ hunger. What 
durned fools we’ve been not to a thunk on’t afore ; but 
who’d iver think o’ eatin’ turkey-buzzart ? Wal, it’s die 
dog or swaller the hatchet ; so, nasty as their flesh may be, 
hyar goes to git a meal o’ it !” 

While speaking he had carried the gun to his shoulder, 
and simultaneously with his last words came the crack, 
quickly followed by the descent of a dead turkey-buzzard 
among the sages. 

“Now, Frank,” he said, picking up the bird, while the 
scared flock flew farther away, “let’s light a bit o’ a fire 
an’ cook it. Thar’s 4)lenty o’ sage fur the stuffin’, an’ its 
own flavor ’ll do for the seasonin’ o’ the inyins. I reckon 
we kin git some on’t down by shettin’ our noses, an’ at all 
ivents, it’ll keep us alive a leetle longer. Wagh ! ef we 
only hed water !” 

As if some fresh hope had come suddenly across his 
mind, he once more raised himself erect on tiptoe, to the 
full stretch of his gigantic stature, and gazed eastwardly 
across the plain. 


II2 


STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES. 


“Thar’s a ridge o’ hills out that way,” he said. “I’d 
jest spied it when you spoke o’ givin’ out. Whar thar’s 
hills thar’s a likelihood o’ water. S’posin’, Frank, you stay 
hyar, while I make tracks torst them. They look like they 
warn’t mor’n ten mile off, anyhow. I ked eezy git back 
by the morn’. D’ye think ye ked hold out thet long by 
eatin’ a bit o’ the buzzart ?” 

“I think I could hold out that long as well without 
eating it. It’s the thirst that’s killing me. I feel as if 
there was fire running through my veins. If you think 
there is any chance of finding water go, Walt, go, and 
leave the buzzard till you come back.” 

“I’ll do it; but don’t you sturve in the meanwhile. 
Cook the critter aforo lettin’ it kum to thet. You’ve got 
punk, an’ kin make a fire out o’ the sage brush. I don’t 
intend to run the risk o’ sturvin’ myself, an’ as I mayent 
find anything on the way, I’ll take one o’ these sweet- 
smellin’ chickens along wi’ me.” 

He had already reloaded the rifle, and once more pois- 
ing its muzzle toward the sky, he brought down a second 
buzzard. 

“Now, Frank,” he said, taking up the foul bird and 
slinging it to his belt, “keep up yur heart till this child 
return to ye. I’m sure o' gettin’ back by the mornin’; an’ 
to make sartin ’bout the place, jest you squat unner the 
shadder o’ yon big palmetto, the which I can see far enuf 
off to find the place ’ithout hevin’ any defeequelty. ” 

The palmetto spoken of was, in truth, not a “palmetto,” 


^STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES. 113 * 

though a plant of kindred genus. It was a yucca, of a 
species peculiar to the high table-plains of northern and 
central Mexico, with long, sword-shaped leaves springing 
aloe-like from a core in the center, and radiating in all 
directions. Its top rose nearly six feet above the surface 
of the ground, and high over the artemisias; while its 
dark, rigid spikes, contrasting with their frosted foliage, 
rendered it a conspicuous landmark that could be seen 
afar off upon the plain. 

Staggering on till he stood by it, Hamersley dropped 
down on its eastern side, where its dark shadow gave him 
protection from the sun, still fervid though setting ; while 
that of Walt Wilder was again projected to its full length 
upon the plain, as, with the rifle across his shoulder and 
the turkey-buzzard dangling down his thigh, he took his 
departure from the spot, going eastward toward the ridge, 
dimly discernable in the distance. 


II4 


A HUNTRESS. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A HUNTRISS. 

“Come, Lolita ! Hold up, my pretty pet ! Two leagues 
more, and you shall buiy that velvet muzzle of yours in 
the soft grass, and cool your heated hoofs in the valley 
stream. Ay, and you shall have a half-peck of pinon nuts 
for your supper, I promise you. You’ve done well to-day, 
but don’t now let us be belated. At night, you know, we 
might get lost in the pathless plain, and coyotes would eat 
us both up. That would be a sad thing. We must not 
let the jackals have a chance to dispose of us in that man- 
ner. So on.” 

“Lolita” was a pretty mustang mare, of golden-yellow 
color, with white mane and tail, while the personage thus 
apostrophizing her was a girl seated upon her back. 

She was a beautiful girl, apparently under twenty years 
of age, but with a certain commanding mien that gave her 
the air of being older. Her complexion, though white, 
had a tinge of that golden-brown, or olivine, characteristic 
of the Andelusian skin, while cimeter-shaped eyebrows, 
with tresses of silken texture, black as the shadows of 
night, with a dark down on the upper lip, still more 
plainly proclaimed the Moorish admixture. 


A HUNTRESS. 


It was a face of lovely cast, and almost Grecian contour, 
the features of classic regularity. 

The olive tint was Hispano-Mexican, a complexion if 
not more beautiful, certainly more picturesque than that 
of the fair Saxon. 

With the damask-red. dancing out upon her cheeks and 
eyes, aglow from the equestrian exercise, the girl looked 
the picture of perfect physical health, while the tranquil 
expression upon her features told of a mental content- 
ment. 

Strangest of all were her equipments and surroundings. 
She bestrode her mustang man-fashion — the mode of New 
Mexico — while a light fowling-piece, suspended by a strap, 
hung down behind her back. 

A woolen shawl of finest wool lay, scarf-like, across her 
left shoulder, half concealing a velveteen vest or spencer, 
close buttoned over her bosom. Her small and shapely 
feet, visible beneath an embroidered short skirt, were 
booted and spurred. 

On her head was a hat of soft vicuna wool, with a band 
of bullion, and a bordering of gold lace around the brim. 
This, with her attitude on horseback — that would appear 
odd in the eyes of a stranger to her country — the gun and 
its concomitant accouterments, might have given her a 
masculine appearance, and, at the first glance, have caused 
her to be mistaken for a man — a beardless youth. 

But the long silken tresses scattered loosely over her 
shoulders, the finely cut features, the delicate texture of 


A HUNTRESS. 


1 16 

the skin, the petticoat skirt, the small head and slender, 
tapering fingers stretched forward to caress the neck of 
the mustang-mare, were signs of femininity not to be mis- 
taken. 

A woman — a huntress ! This last further declared by a 
brace of hounds, large dogs of the mastiff blood-hound 
breed, following on the heels of the horse ; and a huntress 
who had been successful in the chase, as could be seen by 
two prong-horn antelopes, with shanks tied together, lying 
like saddle-bags along Lolita’s flanks. 

The mustang-mare needed no spur beyond the sound 
of that sweet, well-known voice. At the command to 
advance, she pricked up her ears, gave a wave^o her 
snow-white tail, and broke into a gentle canter, the hounds 
following at a long stretching trot. 

For about ten minutes was this pace continued, when a 
bird, flying across the course so close that its wings almost 
brushed Lolita’s snout, caused her mistress to lean back in 
her saddle and check her up. 

The bird was a black vulture. It was not slowly soaring 
in the usual way, but shooting in a direct line, and swiftly 
as an arrow sent from the bow. 

This it was that brought the huntress to a halt ; and she 
for a time remained motionless, her eye following the 
vulture in its flight. 

It was seen to join a flock of its fellows, so far off* as to 
look like specks. 

The young girl could perceive that they were not flying 


A HUNTRESS. 


117 


in any particular direction, but soaring in circles, as if over 
some object that lay below. Whatever it was, they did 
not appear yet to have touched it. All kept aloft, none of 
them alighting on the ground, though at times swooping 
down and skimming close to the tops of the sage bushes 
with which the plain was thickly covered. 

These last prevented the huntress from seeing what lay 
upon the ground, though she knew there must be some- 
thing to have attracted the concourse of vultures. She 
had evidently enough knowledge of the desert to under- 
stand its signs, and this was one of a significant character. 
It not only challenged her curiosity, but seemed to court 
investigation. 

“Something gone down yonder, and not yet dead,” 
she muttered, in interrogative soliloquy. “I wonder what 
it can be } I never look on these filthy birds without fear. 
Oh! how they made me shudder that time when they 
flapped their black wings in our very faces. I pity any 
disabled creature threatened by them, even if it were but 
a coyote. It may be that, or an antelope. Nothing else 
likely to become their prey on this bare plain. Come, 
Lolita, let us go and see what they’re after. It will take 
us a little out of our way, and give you some extra work. 
You won’t mind that, my pet, I know you wont. ” 

The mare came round to a slight pressure upon the 
rein, and then recommenced her canter in the direction 
of the soaring flock. 

A mile passed over, and the birds were brought near. 


ii8 


A H UNTRESS, 


But still the object attracting them could not be seen. It 
might be down among the artemisias, or perhaps behind 
a large yucca, whose leaves rose several feet above the 
sage, and over which the vultures were wheeling. 

As the fair equestrienne had got within gun-shot dis- 
tance of the yucca-plant, she checked her mustang to a ^ 
slower pace — to a walk, in short. In the spectacle of 
death, still more in the struggles of an expiring creature, 
even though it be but a dumb brute, there is something 
that never fails to excite commiseration, mingled with a 
feeling of awe. 

her as she drew near the spot 
, • hovering. 

It had not occurred to her that the object of their pres- 
ence might be a human being, though it was a remem- 
brance of this kind that was causing her to ride forward so 
slowly and reflectively. Once in her life, with others 
around her who were near and dear, had she been the 
object of eager solicitude to a flock of vultures. 

Not the slightest thought of its being a human creature 
that caused their gathering now, there upon the Staked 
Plain, so rarely trodden by human feet, and even shunned 
by almost every species of animal. 

As she drew still nearer, a black figure, dimly outlined 
against the dark-green leaves of the yucca, upon scrutiny, 
betrayed the form of a bird itself— a vulture. It was dead, 
hanging half-impaled upon the sharp spikes of the plant, 
as if it had been hung there or fallen from above. 


A HUNTRESS. 


119 

A smile curled upon the lips of the fair equestrienne as 
she saw it. 

“So, Lolita,” she said, bringing the mare to a stand, 
and half turning her, “Tve been losing my time, and you 
your labor. The abominable bird — it’s only one of them- 
selves that has fallen.” 

The blood-hounds, that had fallen behind in her gallop 
across the plain, had now got up, and, instead of stopping 
by the tail of Lolita, rushed on toward the yucca. It was 
not the odor of the dead buzzard — strong as that may have 
been — that attracted them on, but the scent of what was 
more congenial to their sanguinary instincts. 

On arriving at the yucca, they were seen to run around 
to the opposite side of the plant, and then to leap back, as 
if something ‘Standing on the defensive had suddenly held 
them at bay. 

“A wounded wolf or antelope,” was the muttered reflec- 
tion of their mistress. 

It had scarcely passed her lips when she was made aware 
of her mistake. Above the continued growling of the 
hounds she could distinguish the tones of a human voice, 
and, the instant after, a man’s head and hand appeared 
above the spikes of the plant, the latter clutching the 
handle of a long-bladed and bloody knife, with which the 
blood-hounds were being kept at bay. 


120 


^^DOWN, DOGSP* 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“down, dogs!” 

Notwithstanding her apparent calmness and the pres- 
ence of mind she evidently possessed, the rider of Lolita 
was affrighted — far more than the vultures that had soared 
higher out of sight and hearing of the fracas. 

And no wonder that she was, at an apparition so strange 
and unexpected. The head of a man, with dark beard 
upon his face, holding in his hand a blade that showed 
blood upon it. This in such a place? 

Her first thought was to turn Lolita’s head and gallop 
off from the spot, when a reflection staid her. The man 
was evidently alive, and the look upon his face was not 
that of villainy or anger. The color of the skin and the 
beard bespoke him a white man, and not an Indian. Be- 
sides, there was pallor upon his cheeks — a wan, wasted 
look, that told suffering, not sin. 

All this the quick eye of the huntress took in at a 
glance, resolving her how to act. Instead of galloping 
away, she spurred the mustang on toward the yucca. 
When close up to it, she threw herself out of the saddle, 
and, whip in hand, rushed up to the hounds, chiding and 
chastising them. 


^DOWN, DOGSr^ 


I2I 


“Down, dogs! Down, you ugly brutes!” she ex- 
claimed, giving each a sharp cut that at once reduced 
them to quiescence, causing them to cower at her feet. 
“Don’t you see the mistake you have made?” she went 
on, addressing the dogs. “Don’t you see that the caval- 
lero is not an Indian? It is well, sir,” she added, now 
turning to the man, “that your skin is white. Had it 
been copper-colored, I’m not certain I could have saved 
you from getting torn. My pets here are not partial to 
the Indians.” 

During these speeches and the actions that accompanied 
them, Frank Hamersley — for it was he — stood in staring 
and silent wonder. 

What saw he before him ? 

Two large and fierce-looking dogs, a horse oddly capar- 
isoned, a young girl, scarcely a woman, strangely and 
picturesquely garbed. What had he heard? First, the 
loud baying of blood-hounds threatening to tear him to 
pieces ; then a voice sweet and musical as the warbling of 
a bird. 

Was it all a dream ? 

Dreaming he had been when aroused by the growling 
of the hounds. But that was a horrid vision. What he 
now saw was the opposite. Demons had been assault- 
ing him in his sleep. Now, awake, an angel appeared by 
his side ! 

The young girl had ceased speaking ere the vertigo 
caused by his sudden uprising cleared away from his 


122 


**£)OfVN, DOGSr 


brain and he began to believe in the reality of the objects 
around him. 

The shock of surprise had imparted a momentary 
strength. That soon passed, and his feebleness once more 
returning, he would have fallen back to the earth had he 
not clutched at the yucca, whose stiff blades sustained 
him. 

“Oh, Heaven!” exclaimed the girl, now more clearly 
perceiving his condition. “ You are suffering, sir I Is it 
hunger? Is it thirst? You have been lost upon the 
Staked Plain !” 

“Hunger, thirst — both, senorita,” said Hamersley, now 
speaking for the first time. “For days I have not had 
either food or drink.” 

The huntress uttered an exclamation of wonder, has- 
tened toward her horse, and jerking a little wallet from the 
horn of her saddle, along with a suspended gourd, came 
instantly back again. 

“Here, senor,” she said, plunging her hand into the 
bag and bringing forth some small crackers; “there is all 
I have, for I’ve been all day from home, and the rest is 
eaten. Here, take the water first. No doubt you need 
drink most.” 

As she spoke she handed him the gourd, which, by its 
weight, contained over a pint. 

“Ami not robbing you?” asked Hamersley, as he cast 
a significant glance out over the wide, sterile plain. 

“ No, no. I am not in need ; besides, have not a great 


*^DOWN, DOGSr 123 

way to go to where I can get supplied again. Drink, 
senor — drink all.'" 

In six seconds after the calabash was empty. 

"‘Now eat the crackers; they will strengthen you.’' 

Her words proved true, for after swallowing a few mor- 
sels his strength revived. 

“Do you think you would be able to ride, senor?” she 
asked. 

“I think I could walk, though perhaps not very far.” 

“If you can ride, there is no need for your walking. 
You can mount my mare. I shall go afoot. It is not far 
— only three miles.” 

“But, senorita,” hesitated Hamersley, “I must not 
leave this spot.” 

“ Indeed !” she exclaimed, turning upon him a look of 
surprise. “ For what reason, senor? To stay here would 
be to perish. You have no companion to assist you.” 

“I have a companion. That is why I must remain 
here. He has gone off in search of water.” 

“ But why should you stay for him ?” 

“Need you ask, senorita? He is my comrade, true and 
faithful. He has been the sharer of my dangers — of late 
no common ones. If he were to come back here and 
find me gone ” 

“What would that signify? He will know where to go 
after you. ” 

“How?” 


124 


**DOfVJ\r, DOGsr 


‘‘Oh, that will be easy enough. Leave it to me. Are 
you sure he can find the way back to this place.?” 

“Quite sure. This yucca will guide him. He noted it 
before leaving. ” 

“In that case, senor, there can be no reason for your 
remaining. On the contrary, I see that you need better 
care than you could have among the sage plants. I know 
one who can give it. Come with me, carallero, and before 
your comrade can get back, I shall send one to meet him. 
Lest he should return before my messenger arrive, this will 
save him from going astray. ” 

As she spoke she drew forth a piece of paper from 
beneath her velvet vest, and along with it a pencil. She 
was about to write upon it, when a thought restrained 
her. 

“Does your comrade understand Spanish?” she asked. 

“Only a word or two. He speaks English.” 

“Can he read?” 

“Indifferently. Enough I suppose for ” 

“Senor,” she said, interrupting him, “I need not ask 
if you can write. Take this, and communicate with your 
friend. Say you are gone south— due south to a distance 
of about three miles. Tell him to stay here, and some 
one will come on to meet and guide him to where you 
will be found.” 

Hamersley perceived the rationality of the instructions. 
There was no reason why he should not do as desired, and 


*’DOWNy DOGSr 


125 


at once go with her who gave them. By staying some 
mischance might still happen, and he might never see his 
strange rescuer again. Who could tell what would arise in 
the midst of that mysterious desert ? By going he would 
the sooner be able to send succor to his comrade. 

He hesitated no longer, but wrote upon the piece of 
paper, in large, carefully inscribed letters, so that the 
ranger should have no difficulty in deciphering them ; 

“ Saved by an angel ! Strike due south. Three miles from here 
you will find me. There is a horse, and you can follow his tracks. 
If you stay here for a time one will come to guide you.” 

The huntress took the paper from his hand, and glanc- 
ing at the writing as if out of curiosity to scan the script 
of a language unknown to her. But something like a 
smile playing round her lips might have led one to believe 
that she had divined the meaning of the opening sentence. 
She made no remark, but stepping forward to the yucca, 
and reaching up, she impaled the piece of paper on its 
topmost spike. 

“Now, senor,” she said, “you will mount my mare. 
See, she stands ready for you. ” 

Hamersley protested, saying he could walk well enough, 
though his tottering steps contradicted him. He urged 
his objections in vain. 

The young girl appealingly persisted, until at length, 
for once in his life, his gallantry had to give way, and he 
climbed reluctantly into the saddle. 


126 


^^DOWN, DOGSr 


“Now, Lolita,” said her mistress, “see that your step 
is sure, or you sha’n’t have the nuts I promised you. ” 
Saying this she stepped through the sage, the mustang 
keeping by her side, and the two great hounds, like a rear- 
guard, bringing up at some distance behind. 


AN OASIS. 


127 


CHAPTER XIX. 

AN OASIS. 

Frank Hamersley rode on, wondering at his strange 
guide. Such a lovely being encountered in such an out- 
of-the-way corner of the world, in the midst of a treeless, 
waterless desert, over a hundred miles from the nearest 
civilized world. 

Who was she? Where had she come from? Whither 
was she conducting him ? 

To the last question he would soon have an answer, 
for, as they advanced, she now and again spoke words to 
encourage him, telling him they would shortly arrive at a 
place of rest. 

Yonder!" she at length exclaimed, pointing to two 
mound-shaped elevations that rose, twin-like, above the 
level of the plain. Between them lies our path. Once 
there, we shall not have much farther to go. The ranch 
will be in sight. ” 

The young prairie-merchant made no reply. He only 
thought of how strange it all was — the beautiful being by 
his side, her dash, her wonderful knowledge, exhibited 
with such an unpretending air, her generous behavior, 
the picturesqueness of her dress, her hunter equipments, 
the great dogs trotting at her heels, the dead game on the 


128 


AN OASIS. 


croup behind him, the animal he bestrode — all were 
before his mind and mingling in his thoughts, like the 
unreal phantasmagoria of a dream. 

And not any more like reality was the scene disclosed to 
his view when, after passing around the nearest of the 
twin, mound-shaped hills, and entering a gate-like gorge 
that opened between them, he sawj^efore him and below, 
hundreds of feet below, a valley of elliptical form, like a 
vast basin scooped out from the plain. But for its oval 
shape he might have deemed it the crater of some extinct 
volcano. And then where was the lava that should have 
been projected from it? With the exception of the two 
hillocks on each hand, all the country around, far as the 
eye could reach, was level as the bosom of a placid lake. 

And like anything but a crater was the cavity itself. No 
gloom down there, no returning streams ol lava nor debris 
of pumice stone; but, on the contrary, a smiling vegeta- 
tion — trees with foliage of different shades of green, among 
which could be distinguished the frondage of the live-oak 
and pecan, the more brilliant verdure of the alamos, and 
the flower-loaded branches of the wild China tree. 

In their midst was a glassy surface that told of a lake, 
with here and there a fleck of white foam, that spoke of 
cool cascades and cataracts. Near the lakelet, that showed 
in the center, a tiny column of blue smoke rising up over 
the tree-tops, indicated the presence of a dwelling, and, as 
they advanced a little farther into the gorge, the house 
itself could be descried. 


AJ^ OASIS. 


129 


In contrast with the dreary plain over which he had been 
so long toiling, to Hamersley it seemed a Paradise — worthy 
to be the home of the Peri who was conducting him to it. 
It resembled a landscape painted upon the concave sides 
of an oval-shaped basin, with the cloudless sky, like a vast 
cover of blue glass, arching above. 

The scene seemed scarcely real ; and once more the 
young prairie-merchant began to doubt the evidence of 
his senses. 

His doubts were dispelled by that sweet voice breaking 
once more upon his ear. 

“Come, cavallero, you see where you are going now. 
It is not far, but you will have to keep a firm seat in the 
saddle for the next hundred yards or so. There is a steep 
descent and a narrow pathway. Take good hold with your 
knees, and trust altogether to the mare. She knows the 
way well, and will bear you in safety. Won't you, Lolita? 
V-ou will." 

She said this as the mustang gave a soft whimper, as if 
answering her interrogatory. 

“Well, I will myself go before. So leave Lolita to 
herself, senor." 

On giving this injunctipn, she turned abruptly to the 
right, where a path that seemed almost perpendicular led 
along a ledge traversing the face of the cliff. 

Still close followed by the mustang, she advanced fear- 
lessly along it. 

It seemed a most dangerous descent, even for one afoot. 


AN OASIS. 


130 

and if left to his own will, Hamersley would have declined 
to attempt it on horseback. 

But he had no choice now, for, before he could have 
made either expostulation or protest, Lolita had struck 
out along the ledge, and was hastening on, her hind- 
quarters high up in the air, and her neck extended in the 
opposite direction, as if standing upon her head. 

To her rider there was no alternative but do as he had 
been directed — stick to the saddle. This he did by throw- 
ing his feet forward and his back flat along the croup, 
till his shoulders rested on the crossed hoofs of the prong- 
horns. 

In this position he remained without saying a word, or 
even daring to look below^ till he at length found himself 
moving forward with his face upturned to the sky, and 
thus discovered that the animal he bestrode was once 
more progressing in a horizontal direction. 

*‘Now, senor,” said the voice of Lolita’s mistress, “you 
can sit upright — the danger is past. You have behaved 
well, Lolita,” she added, patting the mare upon the neck. 

Once more stepping to the front, she struck off among 
the trees, along a path which still inclined downward, 
though only in a gentle slope. 

Hamiersley’s brain was in a whirl. The strange scenes, 
things, thoughts, and fancies were weaving weird spells 
around him, and once more he began to think that his 
senses either had or were forsaking him. 

This time it was so, for the long-protracted suffering. 


AJV OASIS. 


the waste of blood, and loss of strength, only spasmod- 
ically resuscitated by the excitement of the strange encoun- 
ter, was now being followed by a fever of the brain that 
was in reality depriving him of his reason. 

He remembered riding on for some distance farther, 
under trees whose leafy boughs formed an arcade over his 
head, shutting out the sun, and then all around became 
suddenly illuminated, as the mustang bore him out into 
the opening, with what appeared a log-cabin in the center. 
He saw, or fancied he saw, several men by its door, and, 
as the mare came to a stop in their midst, his fair con- 
ductor turned toward him suddenly, exclaiming : 

“Oh, Heaven! Gone! gone! Lay hold of him, 
brother !” 

Then one of the bystanders sprang forward, but whether 
to be kind or to kill he could not tell, for, before the man 
had laid hand on him, the strange tableau faded from his 
sight, and death, with all its dark obliviousness seemed to 
take possession of his soul. 


132 


A COMRADE GONE UNDERN 


CHAPTER XX. 

A COMRADE “GONE UNDER.” 

The shadow of Walt Wilder was again cast over the 
Staked Plain, and to a gigantic length, but this time west- 
wardly, from a sun that was rising instead of setting. 

It was the morning after he had parted with his disabled 
companion, and he was now making back toward the spot 
where he had left him, the sun's disk just showing above 
the horizon of the plain and shining straight upon his 
back. There it illuminated an object not seen before, and 
which gave to Walt's shadow a shape still more weird and 
fantastic. It was now that of a giant with something stick- 
ing out on each side of his head that resembled a pair of 
horns, or as if his neck was embraced by an ox-yoke, the 
tines of which projected diagonally outward. 

On looking at Walt himself, the singularity was at once 
understood. The carcass of a deer lay transversely across 
his back, the legs of the animal being fastened together so 
as to form a sling, through which he had thrust his head, 
leaving the long, slender shanks, like the ends of the 
letter X, slanting out on each side of his chin, and rising 
above his shoulders. 

Despite the load thus borne by him, the step of the ex- 


A COMRADE GONE UNDERN 


133 


ranger was no longer that of a man either despairing or 
fatigued. On the contrary, it was light and elastic, while 
his countenance looked gay and joyous as the beams of 
the ascending sun. His very shadow seemed to flit over 
the frosted foliage of artemisias as lightly as the figure 
of a gossamer-robed belle gliding across the floor of a 
ball-room. 

Walt Wilder no longer hungered or thirsted. Though 
the carcass on his back was still unskinned, a huge collop 
cut out of one of its hind-quarters showed he had satisfied 
the first craving; while the gurgle of water heard inside the 
tiny canteen hanging under his arm proclaimed that the 
second had been also appeased. He was now hastening 
on to the relief of his comrade, happy in the thought of 
being able soon to release him from his sufferings. 

Striding lightly among the sage-brush, and looking 
ahead for the landmark that was to guide him, he at 
length came in sight of it. The palmetto, rising like a 
huge porcupine above the plain, could not be mistaken, 
and he saw it at more than a mile’s distance, although 
the shadow of his head was already flickering among its 
bayonet-like blades. 

At that moment something else came before his eyes 
that changed the expression upon his countenance. From 
gay it became grave, serious, apprehensive. A flock of 
buzzards, seemingly scared by his shadow, had suddenly 
flopped up from among the sage plants, and were now 
soaring around close to the tops of the palmetto. 


134 


A COMRADE GONE UNDER: 


They had evidently been upon the ground ; what could 
they have been doing there ? 

It was this question, mentally put by Walt Wilder, that 
had caused the quick change in his countenance — a change 
from gay thought to painful conjecture. 

“Merciful Heaven!” he exclaimed, suddenly making 
halt, his rifle almost dropping from his grasp. “Kin it be 
possible .? Frank Hamersley gone dead I Them buzzarts I 
They’ve been upon the groun’ to a sartinty. Durnashun 1 
what ked they a been doin’ down thar, right by the bunch 
o’ palmetto, jest wher I left him .? An’ no sign o’ himself 
to be seen I Merciful Heaven ! Kin it be possyble.?” 

He remained for awhile silent and motionless, as if 
paralyzed by apprehension, mechanically scanning the 
yucca, as though from it he expected an answer to his 
interrogatory. 

“It air possyble,” he continued, after a time — “too 
possyble, too likesome. He war well-nigh done up, poor 
ellow ; an’ no wonder. Whar is he now ? He must be 
down by the side o’ the bush — down an’ dead. If he war 
alive, he’d be lookin’ out for me. By the etarnal I he’s 
gone under, an’ this deer-meat, this water, procured to no 
purpose. I mout as well throw both away ; they've come 
too late.” 

Once more resuming his forward stride, he advanced 
toward the dark mass above which the vultures were soar- 
ing. His shadow, still by a long distance preceding him, 
had frightened the birds higher up into the air, but they 


A COMRADE ** GONE UNDER” 


135 


showed no signs of going altogether away. On the con- 
trary, they kept circling around, as if they had already 
commenced a repast, and although driven away, intended 
to return to it. On what had they been banqueting? On 
the body of his comrade ? What else could be there ? 

The ex-ranger was still advancing, his heart agonized 
with apprehension, when his eye alighted on the piece of 
paper impaled upon the topmost spike of the yucca plant. 
It gave him relief, but only for an instant, his conjectures 
again leading him astray. 

“Poor young fellow!” was the half-spoken reflection. 
“He's wrote somethin' to tell me how he died — and may- 
hap somethin' for me to carry back to the dear un's he's 
left behint in ole Kentuck. Wal, thet thing shall sartintly 
be done, ef ever this chile sets in the States agin. Durna- 
tion 1 Only to think how near I wer to save him — a whole 
doe-deer, an' water enough to have drownded him I Ye 
may lie thar, ye useless venison. I don’t care no more to 
put tooth into ye. Frank Hamersley gone under 1 The 
man o' all others I'd a died to keep alive. I’d jest as soon 
lie down now, an’ stop breathin' by the side o' him.” 

While speaking he had flung the deer's carcass to the 
ground and stalked on, leaving it behind him. A few 
strides brought him so near to the yucca that he could 
see the ground surface by its base. There was something 
black among the stems of the sage bushes. It was not the 
dead body of a man, but a buzzard, whiclr he knew to be 
that he had shot before starting off. The sight of it caused 


136 ^ COMRADE ^^GONE UMDER” 

him again to make a stop. It looked draggled and torn, 
as if partially dismembered. 

“Kin he hev been eatin’ it? Or war it themselves, the 
cussed kannyballs ! Poor Frank ! I reck’n Fll find him on 
t’other side, lookin’ mangled in the same way. Durn it ! 
’twar kewrious, too. ’Twar on this side he laid down to 
git shade from the sun. I seed him squat while I war 
walkin’ away. The sun ain’t hot enuf yit to a draw him 
to westart o’ the bush, tho’ ther far sartin he must be. 
What’s the use o’ my stannin’ shillyshally hyar? I may as 
well face the sight at oncest, ugly as I know it’ll prove. 
Hyar goes !” 

Steeling himself for the terrible spectacle which he be- 
lieved was certainly awaiting him, he once more advanced 
toward the yucca. 

A dozen strides brought him up, and less than half a 
dozen more carried him around it. No body, living or 
dead ; no remains of one, mutilated or dead ! 

Horse tracks — he saw these at a glance — and other signs 
that told of the late presence of human beings upon the 
spot — at least one other besides the comrade he had be- 
lieved to be dead. 

No proof yet that he was not dead ; only the glimmer 
of a hope. 

And now he reached out with his long arm and eagerly 
clutched the piece of paper, hitherto untouched. He had 
believed it but a dying record— a chapter of directions to 
be read after death. 


A COMRADE GONE UNDERN 


137 


His huge hands trembled and his whole frame quivered 
as he held the sheet spread open between them. 

“Saved by an angel !” 

He read no farther until after giving utterance to a 
“hoorah” that might have been heard many miles over 
the Staked Plain. 

Then, more tranquillized, he continued deciphering the 
chirography of his comrade to the end, when a second 
shout terminated the orthographic effort. 

“Saved by an angel !” he went on, muttering to him- 
self. “A angel on the Staked Plain ! Whar ked the critter 
hev come from ? No matter whar, thar’s been one hyar for 
sartint. Burn me, ef I don’t smell the sweet o’ her wings 
now. This piece o’ paper ! ’Tain’t Frank’s. I don’t know’s 
he hed a scrap about him. No. Thar’s the scent o’ a 
woman about it, sure ; and whar thar’s a woman, Frank 
Hamersley ain’t likely to be let die o’ starvation. I reckon 
it’s all right now, an’ thar ain’t so much need to be in a 
hurry. ’Twar a putty quick brackfast I hed, an’ hain’t 
give this chile’s stumuk full saterfakshun. I’ll jest chaw 
another piece o’ the deer meat, to strenthin me for the 
three-mile tramp southart. ” 

In less than five minutes after, the smoke from a sage- 
stalk fire was seen ascending from beside the palmetto. 
In its blaze, quickly kindled, a huge piece of venison, cut 
from the fat buttocks of the doe, weighing at least four 
pounds, spiked upon one of the stiff blades of the plant, 
was rapidly turning from red to brown. 


A COMRADE ^^GONE UNDER, 


138 

It was not long before the meat was removed from the 
spit, nor indeed very long till it had altogether disap- 
peared from the scene, followed by a gurgling sound, as 
half the contents of the canteen went washing down his 
throat. 

‘‘Now,” he said, springing to his feet, after he had 
completed his repast, “this chile feels strong enuf to face 
Satan hiself, an’ tharfore needn’t a be back’ard ’bout the 
encounterin’ o’ a angel. So hyar goes to find out Frank 
Hamersley an’ how hes farin’. Anyhow, 1 11 take the deer 
along, in case thar mout be a scarcity o’ eetables, tho’ I 
reck’n thar’s no fear o’ that. Whar a angel makes dwellin’ 
place, thar oughter be a full crib; tho’ it mout be am- 
brosya, or nektur, or some o’ lixir fixins as a puraira-man’s 
appetyte ain’t used to. Anyways, a bit o’ doe deer-meat 
won’t do any harm.” 

Once more shouldering the carcass, he strode off toward 
the south, partly guiding himself by the sun, but more by 
the tracks of the mustang, which, though scarcely distin- 
guishable under the overshadowing sage plants, were seen 
with little difficulty by an eye experienced as his. 

On went he, now and then muttering to himself words 
of wonder as to what sort of a woman had carried off his 
comrade ; for, with all his jocular soliloquizing, he knew 
the “angel” to be a woman. 

On went he, his gigantic shadow no longer preceding 
him, but keeping step and step by his side. 


A SWEET AWAKENING. 


139 


CHAPTER XXL 

A SWEET AWAKENING, 

The young prairie-merchant became conscious that he 
existed by hearing voices. They were the voices of men — 
two of them — and were engaged in a conversation that 
appeared to be carried on with some difficulty, as one was 
speaking English, which the other only slightly under- 
stood. Nor was the English of the first speaker of a very 
pure kind, but sounded in Hamersley’s ear sweeter than 
song itself, for he recognized the voice as that of Walt 
Wilder. 

A joyful pulsation passed through his heart to know that 
his comrade had rejoined him. After their parting on the 
plain he had fears that they might never come together 
again. 

Walt was not within sight, for the conversation was car- 
ried on outside the room. He saw that he was in a room, 
a small apartment, of which the walls were logs, and the 
furniture fashioned in a style of corresponding rudeness. 

He was lying upon a camp-bedstead, rendered soft by a 
mattress of grizzly bear-skins, while a large blanket of 
bright-colored pattern was spread over him. 

In the room was a slab-table of the rudest construction. 


140 


A SWEET AWAEENING. 


and one or two chairs, evidently made by the hand of the 
same unskillful workman, their seats being simply ante- 
lope skins with the hair on. On the table was a cup with 
a spoon in it, and two or three small bottles that had the 
look of containing medicine. 

All these objects came under his eyes at the first dim 
glance, but, as his sight became clearer, and he felt 
strength enough to raise his head from the pillow, other 
articles were disclosed to his view in strange contrast with 
the chattels first observed. 

Against the wall were several articles of female dress, all 
of a costly kind. They were silks and silk velvets, richly 
brocaded, while on another table, rough as the first, he 
could distinguish the articles usually belonging to a lady’s 
toilet. These lay in front of a small mirror, set in a frame 
that appeared to be silver, while above was suspended a 
beautiful guitar. 

He saw all these things with a half-bewildered gaze, for 
his senses were still far from being clear. The articles of 
female apparel and toilet, with the guitar, would all have 
been appropriate in a lady’s boudoir or bedroom. How 
singular to see them in juxtaposition with the rough, 
unhewn logs of what was evidently an humj^le shanty or 
cabin I 

Of course, he connected them with her— that singular 
being who had succored and perhaps saved his life. He 
could have no other conjecture. He remembered seeing 
a cabin as they approached it outside. It must be that he 


A SWEET AWAKENING. 


141 

was now in it, though from the last conscious thought as 
he dropped fainting in the saddle, all had been a blank 
between — as if he had been lying helpless in his tomb. 

Even yet it might have appeared a dream, but for the 
voice of Walt Wilder, who was laboring hard to make 
himself understood by the personage outside. 

Hamersley was about to utter a cry that would summon 
his comrade to his side, when he perceived that the voices 
were becoming fainter, as if the two speakers had stepped 
outside the house, and were strolling away from it. Feel- 
ing too weak even for the exertion of a shout, he remained 
silent, presuming they would soon return. 

It was broad daylight, the sun glancing in through an 
open space in the wooden wall that served for a window. 
There was neither frame nor glass, and along with the 
bright beams there came in a delicious fragrance of flowers, 
among which he could distinguish the aromatic scent of 
the sassafras laurel and the wild China tree. There were 
voices of birds mingling their music with the sound of 
falling water — very different from the desert in which he 
had been so long struggling. 

He lay thinking of the beautiful being who had brought 
him there, weaving conjectures that might explain the 
strangeness of the situation. 

He could not tell how long he had been unconscious, 
nor had the whole period of it been like death, unless 
death have its dreams^ for he had these, all of them with 


142 


A SWEET AWAKENING. 


the same form and face fitting and hovering near, as if she 
had been an angelic guardian. 

A strange circumstance was that the face seemed famil- 
iar to him ; or, if not familiar, one he had looked upon 
before. He endeavored to recall all those he had seen in 
New Mexico during his visit to it, for if seen anywhere, it 
must have been there and then. His female acquaintances 
had been but few in that strange land. He could remem- 
ber every one of them. She was not of their number. If 
he had ever looked upon that face, before seeing it upon 
the desert plain, it must have been while passing along the 
street of a Mexican city. And this could scarcely be, was 
his silent reflection, tor once seen, e^^n but for a moment, 
it could never be forgotten. 

Still feeble as a child, the effort of thought fatigued 
him ; and this, with the narcotic influence of the flower- 
perfumes, the songs of the birds, and the soothing mono- 
tone of the waters, produced a drowsiness that terminated 
in sleep. It was his first real sleep since the hour of 
unconsciousness, and this time he slumbered without 
dreaming. 

How long, he could not tell ; but again was he awak- 
ened by voices — as before, of two individuals engaged in 
conversation, but far different from those he had lately 
heard. 

The bird-music, still pouring in through the window, 
was not sweeter than the tones that now saluted his ear. 

Again the speakers wore visible outside .the room, but 


A SWEET AWAKENING. 


143 


he could tell they were near the door, and the first words 
heard admonished him of their design to enter. 

“Come, Conchita, bring the wine along with you. You 
remember Don Prospero said we must give it to him at 
this hour. ” 

‘ ‘ Senorita, I have it here, ready. ” 

“You have forgotten the glass. You would not have 
him drink out of the bottle?'’ 

“How thoughtless I am!” responded Conchita, appa- 
rently running back and possessing herself of the required 
article. 

“Shi” continued the other voice. “If he be still 
asleep, we must not awaken him. Don Prospero said 
that. Step lightly, girl.” 

Hamersley was awake, with his eyes wide open, and his 
consciousness quite restored. But in that moment some- 
thing, he could scarcely have told what, caused him to 
counterfeit sleep, and he lay still with shut eyelids. 

He could hear the door turning upon its hinges of raw- 
hide, the soft rustle of robes — he could feel around him 
that inexpressible something that denotes the sweet pres- 
ence of woman. 

“Yes, he is asleep,” said the first speaker. “For the 
world we must not disturb him. We must wait till he 
awakes. Don Prospero left that direction, did he not ?” 

“ He did, senorita.” 

“Well, we must do exactly as he said, for you know, 
Conchita, this gentleman has in great danger. 


144 


A SWEET AWAKENING. 


Thanks to the good Virgin, he will get over it. Don 
Prospero is sure of it. ” 

‘"What a pity if he should not! Oh! senorita, ins’t 
he ” 

“Isn’t he what.?” 

“So handsome, so very, very beautiful? He looks like 
a picture I’ve seen in church of an angel, only that the 
angel had wings and no mustaches. ” 

“Hush, girl! Don’t speak in that way, or I shall be 
angry with you. You may take back the wine. We must 
come again when he awakes. Tread lightly.” 

Again there was the swishing of drapery, but this time 
as if only one of the speakers was in motion. The other 
seemed still to linger by the side of the couch. 

The invalid knew which it was. There was an elec- 
tricity that told him ; and for an instant he thought of 
opening his eyes and proclaiming that he was awake. A 
thought restrained him— delicacy. The lady might be- 
lieve that he was awake and overheard the conversation. 
It was in Spanish, but she knew that he understood it, for 
he had no doubt that the “senorita” was she who had 
conducted him thither. 

He remained without inoving, without unclosing his , 
eyes. But his ears were open, and he heard what gave 
him more joy, and, perhaps, more strength, than any 
potion Don Prospero could have prescribed, or Conchita 
administered. 


A SIVEET AWAKENING. 


H5 

It came in the shape of a soliloquy — only a few words 
softly spoken, and not intended to be heard. 

"‘It is true what Conchita says, and what Valerian told 
me. He is indeed beautiful !” 

The drapery again rustled, and the door wheezed upon 
its hinges, opening and closing. 

But before it had quite shut to, it was once more pushed 
open, the invalid having signified by a cough that sleep 
had forsaken him. 


146 


DON VALERIAN. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

DON VALERIAN. 

Hamersley, with head upraised upon the pillow, looked 
eagerly toward the re-opening door. He saw what he had 
been expecting — what he had seen in fancy throughout his 
long, fevered dream ; the fair form and beautiful face that 
had so much interested, charmed him, even in the hour 
when life seemed to be forsaking him. 

There was a red tinge upon the cheek that appeared to 
have flashed up suddenly, as if she had half suspected that 
her soliloquy had been overheard. She had spoken it the 
instant before. The words had but parted from her lips, 
and the thought was yet thrilling her heart. Could he 
have heard her? He showed no sign. 

She approached the couch with a look of solicitude, 
mingled with interrogation. 

A hand was held out to her, and a word spoken that 
told her she was recognized. Her eyes sparkled with joy 
as she saw' in those of the invalid that reason had once 
more become seated upon its throne. 

**Iam so happy,” she said — “we are all so happy to 
know you are out of danger. Don Prospero has told us 
so. You will now get well in a very short time. But I 


DON VALERIAN. 


147 


forget. We were to give you something as soon as you 
should awake. It is only our Mexican wine. Conchita, 
bring it in.” 

Conchita had followed her mistress into the chamber. 
A glance would have told her to be the maid, if the over- 
heard conversation had not already disclosed it. A little 
brown-skinned damsel, less than five feet in height, with 
raven hair hanging in double plaits behind her back, and 
black eyes that sparkled like those of a basilisk. 

Conchita, provident, had brought the bottle and glass 
along with her; and soon a portion of the famed grape- 
juice of El Paso was swallowed by the invalid. 

How kind you have been,” he said, as his head once 
more settled down upon the pillow; “ how very kind of 
you, senorita.” 

Do not speak of any kindness,” she rejoined. “There 
has been no kindness in particular. You would not have 
had me leave a fellow-creature to perish on the plain ?” 

“Ah, true; I remember all. But for you, I suppose I 
should now have been in another world.” 

“ No, indeed ; there you are mistaken. If I had never 
come near you, you would have been saved all the same. 
Know, senor, that I have good news for you. Your com- 
rade is safe, and here. He arrived next morning, at an 
early hour, with a deer upon his shoulders. And he had 
found water, too; so that you see I have no merit for 
having rescued you. But I shall bring him in, and Don 
Prospero, whom I hear talking outside. Don Prospero is 


148 


DON VALERIAN, 


a good surgeon, and has well attended to your wounds. 
He has given instructions for you to be kept quiet, so 
please do not excite yourself by trying to talk. I shall 
bring him in at once. Now that you are awake, it may be 
necessary he should see you. ” 

Without waiting for a reply, she glided out of the room, 
Conchita having gone before. 

Hamersley lay pondering upon what he had just heard, 
more especially on that he had overheard — the sweet solilo- 
quy. Few men are insensible to flattery ; and flattery from 
such lips ! He must be near death, indeed, whose heart s 
pulsations it would not have affected. 

The young Kentuckian was not going to die, there or 
then. He knew he was not. He felt enfeebled, but that 
was only from the loss of the blood spilled copiously out 
of his veins. For such a woman’s sake he could recover 
from a worse wound than that he had received. He would 
be sure to get well again. 

But Don Prospero ! Who and what was he like? Was 
he the owner of the voice he had heard in dialogue with 
Walt Wilder? Might he be the owner of all? The thought 
troubled him. ' 

Approaching footsteps outside put a stop to his conjec- 
tures. There were voices, too — one of them that had 
sounded so sweetly in his ears. The other was a man’s, 
though not the same he had heard making such terrible 
attempts to be understood by Walt, nor was it that of the 
ex-ranger himself. It was the voice of Don Prospero, 


DON VALERIAN. 


149 


who soon after entered the room, the senitora leading the 
way. 

A man of nigh sixty years of age, spare form and face, 
hair grizzled, cheeks wrinkled ; withal hale and hearty, as 
could be seen by the pleasant sparkle of his eye ; dressed 
in a semi-military suit, of a subdued tint that spoke of the 
medical staff. 

At a glance there was no danger in Don Prospero. 
Hamersley felt relieved. 

“Glad to see you looking so well,” said the old gentle- 
man, laying hold of his patient’s hand to feel his pulse. 
“Ah ! much more regular; it will be all right now. Keep 
quiet, and we shall soon get you on your feet again. ” 

‘ ‘ Don Prospero, ” asked the senorita, who now, no longer 
wearing her huntress garb, moved about the room with all 
the grace of a silken-clad lady, “I suppose he may see his 
friend, and also Valerian 

‘ ‘ Oh, certainly ; there is no longer any danger. A little 
more of the grape-juice will do him no harm. Nothing 
like our native wine, senor, for bringing a sick man back 
to his appetite. After that we shall give you some wild- 
turkey broth, and a bone to pick. You’ll soon be able 
for both.” 

“Then I shall call them in,” said the senitora, meaning 
Walt Wilder and Valerian, as she spoke gliding from the 
room, and leaving Don Prospero with her patient. 

Soon after her sweet voice was heard calling outside : 
“Valerian!” 


50 


DON VALERIAN 


“Who is Valerian?” feebly interrogated the invalid. 

Again the name of a man was making him unhappy. 

“ Don Valerian !” repeated the old surgeon, in a tone 
that told of respect for the individual so designated. “You 
shall see, senor. You shall soon make his acquaintance. 
No; I am wrong about that. You cannot now.” 

“But why? You have given permission for him to 
see me.” 

“And so he shall, and you him. There! you see him 
now. ” 

This was said as a tall, elegant man, under thirty years 
of age, stepped inside the chamber, while a still taller 
form appeared in the door-way, filling up the space be- 
tween the two posts. The latter was Walt Wilder; the 
former. Valerian. 

“Colonel Miranda!” cried Hamersley, starting up on 
his couch. “Colonel Miranda, is it you?” 

“It is, my dear friend— myself, as you see; and I need 
not tell you how glad I am to meet you again. How 
unexpected, in this queer quarter, where I little hoped to 
have the pleasure of entertaining an old friend. Our 
worthy physician here tells me you will soon get strong 
again, and be somewhat more of a tax upon my hos- 
pitality than you have yet been. No doubt, after your 
very protracted fast, you will have the appetite of an 
ostrich. Well, in one way that will be fortunate, since 
here we are living, as you may see, in a somewhat un- 
civilized fashion. Carrambol You will be deeming my 


DON VALERIAN. 


51 


manners quite as rude as our surroundings, for I am for- 
getting to introduce to^ you one of whom you have often 
heard me speak ; though it doesn’t so much signify, I sup- 
pose, since the lady has made your acquaintance already. 
Senor Don Francisco, permit me to present you to my 
sister, Adela. ” 

It was the beautiful huntress who courtesied to this 
name, and Hamersley now remembered the portrait on 
the wall of the parlor in Colonel Miranda’s house. 

He had already dismissed his suspicious fears of Don 
Prospero. He now no longer dreaded Valerian. 


52 


THE LAND OF THE LEX TALIONIS. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE LAND OF THE LEX TALIONIS. 

During the quarter of a century preceding the annexa- 
tion of New Mexico to the United States, that distant 
province of the Mexican Republic, like all the rest of the 
country, was the scene of constantly recurring revolu- 
tions. Every discontented captain, colonel, or general, 
who chanced to be in command of a district, there held 
sway as a dictator, and so demeaned himself that martial 
and military rule had become established as the living law 
of the land. 

The civic authorities rarely possessed more than the 
semblance of power, and where they did, it was wielded 
in the most flagitious manner. The most arbitrary acts 
were committed under the pretext of patriotism or duty. 
No man’s life was safe who fell under the displeasure of 
the ruling military chieftain, and woman’s honor was held 
in but slight respect. 

In the northern frontier provinces of the Republic this 
irresponsible power of the military was peculiarly despotic 
and harassing. These two causes contributed to estab- 
lish and keep it in the ascendency. One was the revolu- 
tionary condition of the country, which, as elsewhere, had 
become chronic. 


THE LAND OF THE LEX TALIONIS. 153 

The contest between the party of the clergy and that of 
the patriots began on the first days of Mexican independ- 
ence, and has been continued ever since. 

The province of New Mexico, notwithstanding its re- 
moteness from the nation’s capital, was always affected by, 
and followed its political fortunes. 

When the church party was in power at the capital, its 
adherents became the rulers in the distant States for the 
time being. And when the patriots or liberals gained the 
ascendency, the rule was reversed. It 'is but just to say 
that when the latter were the “ins” things for a time went 
well. Corruption, though not cured, was to some extent 
checked, and good government would begin to extend 
itself over the land. 

But this would only last for a brief period, until a revo- 
lutionary change of the government was affected by the 
opposing party. Then would come sanguinary scenes — 
hanging, shooting, garroting — all the horrors that result 
from bib-er and despicable revenge. 

In such an uncertain state of things, it was but natural 
that the military should feel themselves master of the situa- 
tion, and act accordingly. 

In the Northern States, however, they had yet another 
pretext for their unrestrained exercise of power, and in 
none more than New Mexico. This remote province, 
lying like an oasis in the midst of uninhabited wilds, was 
surrounded on all sides by tribes of hostile Indians. 
There were the Navajoes and Apaches on the west, the 


154 


THE LAND OF THE LEX TALIONIS. 


Comanches and other Apache bands on the south and 
east, the Utahs on the north, and various smaller tribes 
distributed around it. They were all more or less hostile, 
at one time or another, now on terms of an intermittent 
peace, secured by a palaver and a treaty, anon to be broken 
by some act of bad faith, leaving their braves free once 
more to betake themselves to the war-path. 

Of course, this condition of things gave the soldiery a 
fine opportunity to maintain their ascendency over the 
peaceful citizens. Rabble as these soldiers were, and pal- 
troons as they generally proved in every encounter with 
the Indians, they were accustomed to proclaim themselves 
the country’s protectors, and assumed the power to despoil 
it at their pleasure. 

Some few years preceding the American-Mexican war — 
which, as all know, gave New Mexico to the United 
States — these belligerent swaggerers were in the zenith of 
their arbitrary rule. Their great patron and protector, 
Santa Anna, had enjoyed a long spell of power, making 
him absolute dictator of Mexico, and disposer of the des- 
tinies of its people. At the same time one of his most 
servile tools and successful imitators was at the head of the 
provincial government, having Santa Fe for its capital. 
This man was Manuel Armigo, whose character may be 
ascertained by those curious to study it, by reading the 
chronicles of the times, especially the records of the 
prairie-merchants, known as “Santa Fe traders.” It will 
here be learned that this Mexican despot was guilty of 


THE LAND OF THE LEX TALIONIS. 


155 


every act that could disgrace humanity, and that not only 
did he oppress his fellow-citizens with the soldiery placed 
at his disposal and intended to protect them from Indian 
enemies, but he was actually in secret league with the 
Indians themselves to aid him in his plunders and mur- 
ders. Whatever his eye coveted, he was sure to obtain by 
fair means or foul, by open pillage or secret theft, not 
unfrequently accompanied by assassination. And as with 
the despot himself, so with his subordinates, each in his 
own town or district wielding irresponsible power, and 
leading a life in imitation of the provincial chieftain — as 
of him their great prototype and protector, who held dic- 
tatorial sway in the central capital of the country — Don 
Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. A knowledge of this 
abnormal condition of Mexican affairs will in some meas- 
ure explain the answer given by Colonel Miranda to his 
invalid guest, when the latter put the question : 

“Why are you here?” 

“As regards Don Prospero and myself, we are here to 
save our heads. As for my sister — but that I shall tell you 
in time. You wish to have the whole history?” 

“ I do. It seems so inexplicable — a mystery, in fact, to 
find you here in this oasis of the desert ; and, as you say, 
it is living in such a primitive fashion. IVe been puzzling 
my brains about it ever since they became clear enough to 
think.” 

“Well, you shall have the puzzle solved. IVe kept it 
from you by direction of our good physician, who feared 


THE LAND OF THE LEX TALIONIS. 


the tale might too much excite you. But you’re now 
strong enough to hear it, and so listen. ” 

It was on the third day after the recovery of his con- 
sciousness, the young Kentuckian still lying on the couch, 
and Miranda seated by his side, that this dialogue took 
place. 

“One word,” commenced the Mexican colonel. “One 
name will give you the key to the whole affair — a name, 
Don Francisco, already known to you.” 

Ur agar exclaimed Hamersley, the word rising me- 
chanically from his lips, while a cloud came over his brow, 
and a red flush flecked the pallor upon his cheeks. 
“ Uraga^ the scoundrel I I was thinking so.” 

“Gil Uraga — no longer Captain Gil Uraga, but now 
colonel, commanding the district that six months ago was 
mine, and living in the house where twelve months ago I 
had the honor of showing you some little hospitality.” 

The young Kentuckian turned uneasily on his couch, 
his pale face becoming still further flushed with indigna- 
tion. 

“ For the matter of our story,” continued the Mexican, 
“it only needs to add that we are refugees, and then it is 
all told. .But the details may be interesting to you, and 
also how and why we liave sought an asylum here. It is 
something of a lengthy tale, Don Francisco, and, before 
going further, I think it would be better to strengthen you 
with another glass of wine. Before going out, the doctor 
left word for it to be given to you. Besides, I need one 


THE LAND OF THE LEX TAL/ON/S. 


^S7 


myself, and that will be an excuse for my having it. The 
host should always drink with his guests. ” 

With a smile, the Mexican rose from his chair and 
stepped out of the room to give directions about the wine. 

Hamersley lay reflecting, longing to hear the details of 
the interrupted relation. He had his conjectures that in 
some of them at least he would feel a deep interest. He 
had not forgotten the conversation on the roof of Miranda s 
house, least of all, that portion of it in which allusion was 
made to Uraga, and his aspirings to the hand of a certain 
lady. It had pained him when he had only seen her por- 
trait, and now that he had looked upon the original ; now 
that 

Though tortured by suspense, and something of an 
undefinable fear, he remained silent, awaiting the return 
of Miranda. 


158 


THE REFUGEES, 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE REFUGEES. 

In due time Don Valerian re-entered the room, Con- 
chita following with a flask of wine and drinking vessels 
for two. The sparkling beverage was soon quafled, and 
the colonel commenced his narration. 

“Not long after you left us, I made application to the 
government for an increase in the mounted force over 
which I had command. It had become necessary for the 
protection of the district from our warlike neighbors in 
the west — the Navajoes. They had made several raids 
upon the river settlements, and carried off goods, cattle, 
and a number of captives. I got the force I had made 
requisition for ; but not the right men — or at least not the 
officers I should have chosen. A troop of cavalry was 
sent to me. You may imagine my chagrin, not to say dis- 
gust, when Captain Gil Uraga, at the head of his company 
of lancers, marched into the town of Albuquerque, and 
reported himself for duty. I need not tell you how un- 
pleasant the association was for many reasons, not the least 
that of which I have already told you — his pretensions to 
the hand of my sister. ” 

Hamersley writhed upon his couch. Perhaps had the 


THE REFUGEES. 


159 

doctor been present he would have caused the narration 
to be suspended. 

Miranda went on : 

“He continued his ill-received attentions whenever 
chance gave him an opportunity. It was not often — I 
took care of that; though but for precautions, and my 
authority as his superior officer, his advances would, no 
doubt, have been bolder — in short, persecutions. I knew 
that to my sister, as to myself, his presence — even in the 
district — was disagreeable ; but there was no help for it. 

I could not have him removed. In all matters of military 
duty, he took care to act so that there should be no pre- . 
text for a charge against him. Besides, I soon found that 
he was in favor with some of the government authorities, 
though I did not then know why. I learned it afterward, 
and why he of all others should have been sent to Albu- 
querque. The sap had commenced for the new revolu- 
tion, and he was one of its secret fomenters. He had 
been chosen by the church party as a fitting agent to act 
in the district of which, like myself, he was a native. 

“Having no suspicion of this, I only thought of him 
in regard to his impertinent pretensions to my sister, and 
against these I could restrain him. He was polite, obse- 
quiously so, and cautiously guarded in his gallantries, so 
that I could only wait and watch. 

“The vigil was not a long one, though it ended differ- 
ently from what I might have expected. About two months 
after his coming under my command, the late change of 


l6o the refugees. 

government was proclaimed all over Mexico. One morn- 
ing, as I went down to the military quarters, I found con- 
fusion and disturbance. The soldiers were under arms, 
many of them drunk, and vociferating : ‘ Viva Santa Anna! 
Viva el Coronel UragaT At a glance I comprehended all. 
It was a pronuiiciamento. I drew my sword, thinking I 
might stay the tide of treason, and called around me such 
of my followers as were still faithful. 

‘ ‘ It was too late. The poison had spread throughout the 
whole command. My adherents were soon overpowered — 
several of them killed — myself wounded, dragged to a 
temporary prison, and there locked up. The wonder is 
that I was not executed on the spot, for I know that 
Uraga thirsted for my life. He was only restrained, how- 
ever, by a little caution ; for, although I was not put to 
death on that day, he intended I should never see the 
sun rise upon another. But he was disappointed, and I 
escaped. 

“I know you will be impatient to learn How,” resumed 
the refugee, after rolling and igniting a fresh cigaritto. 

It is somewhat of an incident, and might serve the writer 
of a romance. I owe my life, my liberty, and, what is 
more, my sister’s safety, to our good friend, the doctor. 
In his capacity of military surgeon, he was not com- 
promised like the rest of us, and, after the revolt, he was 
left free to follow his vocation. While seeking permission 
to dress the wound I had received, chance brought him 
into a position where he could overhear a conversation 


THE REFUGEES. 


i6i 


that was being carried on between Uraga and one of his 
lieutenants — a ruffian named Roblez — fit associate for his 
superior. They were in high glee over what had hap- 
pened, carousing, and, in their cups, not very cautious of 
what they said. Don Prospero heard enough to make 
him acquainted with their scheme — so diabolical you will 
scarce give credence to it. I was to be made away with 
in the night — carried up to the mountains, and there mur- 
dered. With no traces left, it would be supposed that I 
had made my escape from the prison ; and the good doc- 
tor heard other designs equally atrocious — what the demon 
afterward intended doing when my sister should be left 
unprotected. ” 

Something like a groan escaped from the throat of the 
invalid, while his fingers clutched nervously at the blanket 
that covered the couch. » 

‘ ‘ Devoted to our family, Don Prospero at once deter- 
mined upon a course of action. There was not a moment 
to be lost. He obtained the permission to attend to me 
in prison. It was a cheap grace on Uraga’s part, con- 
sidering his ulterior design. 

‘‘An attendant — a sort of hospital assistant — was allowed 
to accompany the doctor to the cell, bearing his lints, 
drugs, and instruments. Fortunately, I had not yet been 
robbed by the ruffians who had imprisoned me ; and in my 
own purse, along with that of Don Prospero, there was a 
considerable sum of gold — enough to tempt the attendant 
to exchange clothes and places with me. He was the more 


i 62 


THE REFUGEES. 


ready to do so, relying upon a story he intended to tell — 
that we had overpowered and compelled him. 

“Poor fellow! as we afterward learned, it did not save 
him. He was shot the next morning, to appease the 
chagrin of Uraga — raging furious at our escape. We can- 
not help feeling regret for his fate ; but, under the circum- 
stances, what else could have been done ? 

“We stepped forth from my place of confinement, the 
doctor leading the way, and I, his assistant, bearing his 
instruments and medicines after him. We passed out of 
the quarters unchallenged. Fortunately, the night was a 
dark one, and the guards were given to carousing. The 
sentries were more or less intoxicated. 

“By stealth and in silence we hastened on to my house, 
where I found Adela, as you may suppose, in a state o^ 
agonized distress. But there was no time for words — not 
even of explanation. With two of my servants whom I 
could trust, we hastily collected some of our animals — 
horses and pack-mules. The latter we loaded with such 
things as we could think of as being requisite for a jour- 
ney. We intended it to be a long one — all the way across 
the great prairies. I knew there would be no safety for 
us within the limits of New Mexico, and I remembered 
what you had said to me but a few months before — your 
kind proffer of hospitality, should it ever be my fate to 
seek refuge in your country ; and to seek it we set forth, 
leaving my house untenanted, or only in charge of a few 
faithful domestics, from whom gold had gained a promise 


THE REFUGEES. 


163 


not to betray us. Don Prospero, my sister, and myself, 
the two trusted peons, who had volunteered to accompany 
us, with the girl- Conchita, composed our traveling party. 
I knew that we dare not take the route usually traveled — 
we should be followed by Uraga’s troop and taken back, 
or slain in the pursuit. Instead, I made direct for the 
mountains, with whose passes I was acquainted, having 
traversed them in pursuit of the Apaches. 

*‘We passed safely over the mountains, and kept on 
toward the Rio Pecos. Beyond this river all was unknown 
to us. We only knew that there lay the Staked Plain, 
invested with mysterious terrors — the themes of our child- 
hood’s fears — a vast, sterile tract, uninhabited, save with 
savages seeking scalps, with wild beasts greedy for blood, 
with hideous reptiles and serpents breathing poison. But 
what were all these dangers to that we were leaving be- 
hind } Nothing ; and this thought inspired us to keep 
on. We crossed the Pecos, and entered upon the desert 
tract. We knew not how far it extended, only that on 
the other side lay a fertile country, through which we 
might hope to reach the frontier settlements of your great, 
free nation. It was the beacon of our hopes — the goal of 
our safety. 

“We kept a due easterly course ; but there were days 
when the sun was obscured by clouds, and then, un- 
guided, we had either to remain at rest or travel by guess- 
work. 

“We toiled on, growing weak for want of food, and 


THE REFUGEES, 


164 

suffering terribly from thirst. No water was to be found 
anywhere — not a drop. 

“Our animals suffered as ourselves. Staggering under 
the weight of their loads, one by one they gave out, falling 
down upon the desert plain. Only one held up bravely to 
the last — the mustang mare that brought you to our Lone 
Ranch. 

“Yes; Lolita survived, to carry dear sister, as if she 
understood the value we all placed upon her precious 
burden The others gave out — first the horses ridden 
by Don Prosper© and myself; then the pack-mules. For- 
tunately, they fell near the spot where we at length found 
relief — near enough for their loads to be afterward re- 
covered. 

“One day, as we toiled on foot, in the hourly expecta- 
tion of death, we came in sight of this fair valley. It 
appeared to us a Paradise, as you say it did to yourself. 
Under our eyes were green trees and the sheen of flowing 
waters; in our ears the songs of birds we had never ex- 
pected to hear again. Chance had brought us direct to 
the path, and the only one by which it can be reached 
from the upper plain. 

“Inspired by the promising landscape below, we had 
still strength enough to descend. We drank of the sweet 
water, and soon found food on the branches of the trees 
that shaded it. It was in a season when there were fruits 
and berries in abundance. Afterward we discovered game, 
and were successful in capturing it. With restored strength 


THE REFUGEES. 


165 


we were able to go back and recover the goods we had left 
upon the plain, along with several of the mules that, after 
resting, had regained their feet, and could struggle on a 
little farther. 

At first we only thought of a temporary resting-place, 
though there seemed but slight hope of our being able to 
continue our journey. But as the days passed on and we 
were left undisturbed, we began to realize the fact that we 
had found a safe asylum. It was not likely that any one 
could know the route we had followed in our flight, and 
even the vengeance of Uraga could scarcely pursue us over 
the Staked Plain. In any case, there was no help for it but 
remain in the valley, the only alternative seeming to be 
our return to the Del Norte — of course not to be thought 
of. We resolved therefore on staying. 

“We had conceived a plan for (^ommunicating with the 
outer settlements of New Mexico, and were not without 
hopes that, sooner or later, w^e might get news that would 
make it safe for us to return. In our country, as you 
know, there is nothing permanent ; and we might expect, 
ere long, to see our party once more in power. 

“ Our resolution to remain here becoming fixed, we set 
about making our situation as comfortable as circum- 
stances would permit. We built this humble dwelling, 
whose roof now shelters you. We turned fishermen, 
hunters — in this last specialty my sister becoming more 
skilled than any of us — a real huntress, as you, senor, 
have had occasion to perceive. We have enjoyed the life 


i66 


THE REFUGEES. 


amazingly, more especially our worthy physician, who is 
an enthusiastic naturalist, and here finds full scope for his 
studies. Bat we have not depended altogether upon the 
chase for our subsistence. Manuel, one of our servants, 
makes an occasional trip to the settlements — the route to 
which he had good reason to remember. He takes care to 
steer clear of Albuquerque, as also to make his approaches 
under cover of the night, and his marketing with cir- 
cumspection. With our gold, not yet exhausted, he is 
enabled to purchase mules, and bring back such slight 
commodities as we stand in need of; while a friend, who 
knows of our situation, sends us the news. Now, Don 
Francisco, you know all.” 


COyVALLSCENl, 1 6^ 


CHAFFER XXV. 

CONVALESCENT. 

Thanks to the skill of the old army surgeon, Haaicrs- 
ley's strength became rapidly recuperated. A tender, 
watchful nurse had perhaps something to do with hisqu^ck 
recovery, as also the restoration of his spirits. Loiig before 
hfe was convalescent he had ceased to lament the loss of 
his rroperty and only felt sadness when he thought of 
brave Ibilowers w'ho had fallen in the endeavor to protect 
it from the savage pillagers. Day by day ilie retrospect of 
the red carnage lost something of its horrifying hues, the 
too vivid tints becoming gradually blended with thoughts 
more tranquil and beams more benignant. 

They \vere not the beams of the sun, whose lucid light 
from a sapphire sky shone daily dowm at that sweet oasis 
of the desert — not these that were effecting the metamor- 
phosis so soothing to his spirit, though in truth was it a 
lovely spot into wdiich a chance, at first so sinister, but 
afterward so fortunate, had conducted him. The vale 
itself, with its soft clustering groves, exhibiting the varied 
foliage of evergreen oaks, pecan, a>id wild China trees ; its 
arbors of wild plun., and ierraced grape-vines ; its rock- 
bound rivulet, here and there forming a tranquil sheet, 


C0NV:4LBSCENT. 


1 68 

smooth as the surface of a mirrpr, there leaping off into 
ihe (laiice of the cascade like a string of merry maidens, 
with their white dresses floating behind them, offered to 
the eye an enchanting landscape. 

Placed as it was in the midst of the brown, barren 
desert, sU’angely contrasting with the sterility around, it 
rcsernbled. some exquisitely painted picture set in plainest 
frame., a sparkling jeweled decoration upon a coat ragged 
and russet In truth, a delectable spot, worthy to be the 
abode of an ange-k 

The young prairie-merchant could well fancy it to be so 
inhabited. So far from having changed his mind since he 
penned that woid on the piece of paper *'lelt upon the 
palmetto, he was now only the more confirmed that he had 
//.written the truth. If Adela Miranda v/as not an angel 
she wah a lieiiig of perhaps equally pleasant companion- 
ship—^t least, so though: Frank Hamersley, before he had 
l>eori ten days under the same roof with her. 

.Here was a beauty of a rare and peculiar kind, not com- 
mon anywhere, and only seen among the proud senoritas 
tVof. iTgU whose veins courses the blue blood of Andalusia, 
a bean that might perhaps rebel against the standard of 
taste set up m the icy northland. The dark tracery upon 
her lip might have looked a little odd in a ball-room amid 
Saxon belles, just as her sprightly and buoyant spirit might 
be repellent to the ideas of a strait-laced sect. 

They had no such effect upon Frank Haniv^rsh.g'. On 
the. contrary, to the young Kentuckian, the child of a 


CONVALESCENT. 


It 


land above all others free from conventionalism — 'to 
nature like his, attuned to the picturesque, these were hi 
points to please, to pique the fancy and fix it. They hs 
done this. Long before leaving his couch of convale 
cence there was but one world for him — that whose atmo 
phere was breathed by Adela Miranda, but one being i 
it — herself. 

It must have been decreed by Heaven that these tv 
hearts should come together. Else why in such a stran^ 
place brought into juxtaposition by such a singular coi 
tingency of circumstances ! 

Nothing seemed to stand between them now, not eve 
the zealous watchfulness of a brother. Don Valerian a] 
peared to neglect every thought of fraternal duty, if ai 
such had ever occurred to him. His time was chief 
taken up in roving around the valley with Walt Wilder, ( 
making more distant excursions in the companionship c 
the ex-ranger and hunter, who narrated to him many 
strange chapter in the life-lore of the prairies. 

When Walt was himself about the house he had som 
thing to occupy him — that which kept him from tc 
frequently intruding upon his invalid comrade and tl 
nurse who so carefully tended him. The giant had ah 
succumbed to a similar fate. A pair of jet-black eyes, s 
in a countenance of olive hue, with a row of pearly teetl 
and just a touch of damask-red blushing out upon tl 
cheeks, had done the business for Walt. Such were tl 
eyes, teeth, and complexion of Conchita, the little ha! 


70 


C017VAL2SCENT. 

ndian damsel who, long domesticated with the family of 
he Mirandas, had followed its fortunes into the heart of 
he Staked Plain. 

Quite as little dreaded was the intrusion of Don Pros- 
)ero. Absorbed in his favorite study of nature, the physi- 
cian passed most of his hours in communion with her. 
VEore than half the day was he out of doors,, chasing 
izards into the crevices among the rocks, impaling insects 
m the spikes of the wild maguey plant, or plucking such 
Sowers as seemed new to the classification of the botanist 
Cn these tranquil pursuits, as Don Valerian had said, he 
was perhaps happier than all around — even those whose 
hearts throbbed with that supreme passion, now sweet and 
confiding, anon the veiy acme of bitterness. 

As for the two Pueblo -Manuel and Chico— no 

one thought of them. Clofhed in their coarse woolen 
garments, the humble garb of servitude, they went about 
their daily toil and tasks, when meeting their masters dof- 
fing their palm-plait hats, and making humblest obeisance. 

One of these men — he who was called Manuel — showed 
at times a very different disposition. He possessed natu- 
rally a sinister, almost fierce cast of countenance, that at 
once challenged antipathy. Only a knowledge of the 
fidelity he had shown to Colonel Miranda and his sister 
could have hindered Don Valerian’s guests from disliking 
him. He did not seem to like them, though there was no 
declared exhibition of it. That he would not have dared, 
however intense his hostility. But, although unobserved. 


CONVALESCENT. 


171 

a strange fire might have been at times seen burning in 
his eyes — a fixed, steady spark, like that which gleams and 
glows in the orbs of a rattlesnake about to spring upon its 
prey. It was when his glance rested upon the girl Con- 
chita, especially when he saw her in converse with the ex- 
ranger, listening too tenderly. 

If in that remote spot there were loves refined and 
romantic as those felt by Romeo and Juliet, here was also 
a passion grotesque and terrible as that of Quasimodo. 


172 


A STRICKEN GIANT. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A STRICKEN GIANT. 

About a week after the young Kentuckian had risen 
from his invalid couch, and was able to be abroad, Walt 
Wilder, touching him on the sleeve, requested to have his 
company at a distance from the ranch. 

Hamersley acceded to the request, though not without 
some wonderment. In the demeanor and movements cf 
his comrade there was something odd, almost mysterious. 
As this was unusual, he had evidently some communica- 
tion to make of a secret character, as also important. 

Not until they had got well out of sight of the dwelling, 
and beyond ear-shot of any one inside or around it, did 
Walt say a word, and then only after they had come to a 
stop in the heart of a thick growth of hackbe^es, where 
a prostrate trunk offered them the accommodation of a 
seat. 

Sitting down upon it, and motioning his companion 

still with the same mysterious air — to do likewise, the ex- 
ranger at length began to unburden himself 

‘‘Frank,” said he, “I’ve brought ye out hyar to hev a 
leetle spell o talk on a subjick as consarns this coon very 
consid’able. ” 

“ What subject, Walt?” 


A STRICKEN GIANT. 


173 


“Wal, it’s about weemen/' 

Women? Why, Walt Wilder, I should have supposed 
that would be the farthest thing from your thoughts at such 
a time, and in such a place as this. ” 

“Wal, Frank, ef this child don’t misunderstan’ the sign, 
they ain’t the furrest thing from yur thoughts at this hyar 
time an’ place.” 

The significance of his comrade’s remarks caused the 
color to spring up the cheeks of the young prairie-mer- 
chant — late a little pale. He stammered, as he made 
rejoinder : 

‘‘Well, Walt, you wish to have a talk about women. 
I’m curious to hear what you have to say of them. Go 
on ; I’m listening. ” 

“Ye see, Frank, I’m in a sort o’ a quandary wi’ a petti- 
coat, an’ I want a word o’ advice from ye. You’re more 
expurienced in thar ways than I am. Though a good 
score o’ years older than yurself, I hain’t hed much to do 
wi’ weemen ; but now, ef Walt Wilder know anythin’ o' 
the signs o’ bein’ in love, he hez goed a good ways along 
the trail. Yis, Frank, too fur to think 0’ takin’ the back 
track. ” 

“On that trail, eh?” 

“Thet same whar Cyubit sots his leetle feet, ’ithout 
ne’er a moccasin on ’em. Yis, kumrade, this child fur 
oncest in his kurreer air in difeequelty, sure, sartin.” 

Hamersley gave a shrug of surprise, not unaccompanied 
with a slight feeling of uncertainty. Walt Wilder in love — 


174 


A STRICKEN GIANT. 


and so earnestly ! With whom could it be ? As he could 
himself think of only one woman worth falling in love 
with, either in that solitary spot, or anywhere on earth, it 
was but natural his thoughts should turn to her. Only 
for an instant, however. The thought of having the rough 
hunter for a rival was preposterous; and Walt, pursuing 
the topic, soon convinced him that he had no such lofty 
aspirations. 

“ Yis,” continued he, ‘'she’s been an’ goed an’ did it — 
thet air girl Concheeter. Them black eyes o’ hern hev 
shot clur through this child’s huntin’-shirt, till thar’s no 
peace left the inside o’ it. I hain’t slep’ a soun’ wink fur 
more’n a week o’ nights, all the time dreemin’ o’ the gurl, 
as ef she war a angel a-hoverin’ above me. Now, Frank, 
what am I ter do ? Thet’s why I’ve axed ye to kum out 
hyar an’ hev this confaberlashun. ” 

“Well, Walt, you shall be welcome to my advice. As 
to what you s/iould do, that’s clear enough, but what you 
may or can do will depend as much upon Miss Conchita 
as yourself, perhaps a little more. Have you spoken to 
her upon the subject ?” 

“Thar ain’t yit been much talk atween us, i’deed not 
any talk, I mout say. Ye know I can’t parley thar lingo. 
But this child hev approached her wi’ as much skill as he 
iver did prong-horn or buffler. An’ ef sign signerfy any- 
thin’, she wan’t bad skeert about it. Contrary wise, Frank, 
she sort o’ showed she’d be powerful willin’ to freeze to 


me. 


A STKICICEN GIANT. 


175 


‘‘If she be so disposed, there can’t be much difficulty 
about the matter. You mean to marry her, I presume?” 

‘ ‘ In coorse I duz ; thet fur sartin. Ef this gar’il con- 
sent to be myen, I meen nothin’ short o’ the hon’rable 
saramony o’ marriage — ^same as atween man an’ wife. 
Now, Frank, what do ye think o’t?” 

“I think you might do worse than get married. You’re 
old enough, Walt, and Conchita appears to be just the sort 
of girl that would suit you. I’ve heard it said that these 
Mexican women make the best of wives, when married to 
Americans.” 

Hamersley paused in his speech, as if the reflection v;as 
pleasant to him. 

“There are several things,” he continued, “that it will 
be necessary for you to arrange before you can bring about 
this happy conclusion. First, you will have to get the 
girl’s consent; and I should think also that of Colonel 
Miranda and his sister. They are, as it were, her guard- 
ians, and, to a certain extent, responsible for her being 
properly bestowed. Last of all, you will have to obtain 
the sanction of the church. This, indeed, may be your 
greatest difiiculty. To make you and your sweetheart 
one, a priest or a Protestant clergyman will be needed; 
and I should think neither could be had very conveniently 
here, in the heart of the Staked Plain. 

“I tell ye, Frank Hamersley, I’ve made up my mind 
to hev her. Don’t you think the ole doc ked perform the 
saramony? He air a sort o’ a purfessional. 


176 


A STRICKEN GIANT, 


**No, no; the doctor would be of no use in that 
capacity. It’s his business to unite broken joints, and not 
hands or hearts. But, Walt, if you are really determined 
on the thing, I think I can offer you a hope of being able 
to carry out your determination in a correct and legitimate 
manner. You must be patient, however, and consent to 
wait awhile/’ 

“Gie us yar explanation, kumrade.” 

‘‘Well, our host here. Colonel Miranda, has promised 
to return with us to the States. That must be after you 
and I have made our trip to New Mexico. Whether we 
be successful in getting trace of my lost property or not, 
we shall come back this way, and he will go with us across 
the plains. Of course, all the others, including your Con- 
chita, will be of the party. Once in the United States, 
you and she can get tied to both your hearts’ content — she 
by a priest, if she prefer it, and you by a ^rotestant clergy- 
man.” 

“Dog-goned ef I care which!” was the ready rejoinder 
of the giant. “Eyther’ll do. But harkee, kumrade!” he 
continued, his face assuming an astute expression. “I’d 
like to be sure o’ the gurl now — that is, her way o’ thinkin’ 
on it. Fact is. I’ve made up my mind to be sure, so as 
thar kin be no slips or back-kicks.” 

“Sure, how?” 

“By gettin’ the gurl’s promise.” 

“Oh, there can be no harm in that. I can see none.” 

“Wal, I’m glad you think so, for I’ve set my traps for 


A STRICKEN GIANT. 


177 


the thing, an' baited 'em, too. Thet air part o' my reesun 
for fetchin' you out hyar. She's gin me the promise o' a 
meetin' 'mong these hackberries, an' may show at any 
minnit. Ye see, Frank, I'm a-goin’ to purpose to her, 
an' I want to do it in a reg'lar straightforrard way. As I 
can't talk thar lingo, an' you kin, I know'd you wudn't 
mind translatin' atween us. Ye won't, will ye?" 

shall do so with the greatest of pleasure, if you wish 
it. But don't you think, Walt, you might learn what you 
want to know without any interpreter? She may not like 
my interference in an affair of such delicate nature. Love's 
language is said to be universal, and by it you should be 
able to understand each other. ” 

^‘So fur’s thet’s consarned I reck'n we do unnerstan' 
each other. But this gurl being a Mexikin, she may hev 
queery ways, an' I want her promise guv in tarms from the 
which she kin hev no chance to take the back track — same 
as I mean to give myen.” 

“All right, Walt; I’ll see you get that sort of promise, 
or none." 

“ Hooraw for you, Frank! This child air a-goin' to 
make the bargain stiff and strong. You transleet it jest 
in the same way. ” 

“Trust me; it shall be done word for word." 

“Thet's the sort!" joyfully exclaimed Walt, thinking 
that with Hamersley's assistance the consent of Conchita 
would be secured in binding terms. 


178 


A PROPOSAL BY PROXY. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A PROPOSAL BY PROXY. 

The singular bargain between the prairie-merchant and 
his guide had just reached its conclusion, when a rustling 
among the branches of the hackberries, accompanied by a 
soft footstep, fell upon their ears. 

Looking around, they saw Conchita treading her way 
through the grove. Her cautious and stealthy tread would 
have told of an appointment,” even had her design not 
been already known. Her whole bearing was that of one 
on her way to an interview with a lover ; and the sight of 
Walt Wilder, whose gigantic form now stood erect to re- 
ceive her, proclaimed him the one thus favored. 

It might have appeared strange that she did not start 
back on seeing him in company with another man. She 
neither did this nor showed any shyness — evidence that the 
presence of the third individual was a thing pre-understood 
and arranged between her and Walt. 

She came forward without timidity, and after courtesying 
to the “Senor Francisco,” as she styled him, took her 
seat upon the log, from which Hamersley had arisen, Walt 
taking her hand and gallantly conducting her to the best 
place. 

There was a short silence, which Conchita’s sweetheart 


A PROPOSAL BY PROXY, 


179 


endeavored to nil up with a series of gestures that might 
have appeared uncouth but for the solemnity of the occa- 
sion. This considered, they were full of grace and dignity. 

But perhaps not deeming them so himself, Walt soon 
sought relief, by appealing to his interpreter in the follow-, 
ing words : 

“ Dog gone it, Frank ! ye see I can't make the dear gurl 
unnerstan’ me ; so you palaver to her. Tell her right off 
what I want. Say to her that I hain't got much money, 
but a arm strong enuf to protect her through thick an’ 
through thin — agin the dangers o’ the mountain an’ the 
puraira — grizzly bars, Injuns, an’ all. She sees this child 
hev got a big body, an’ ye kin say to her thet his heart 
ain’t no great ways out o’ correspondin’ wi’ it. Then tell 
her, in the eend, thet this body, an’ arm, an’ heart air 
offered to her, an’ ef she’ll except ’em, they shall be hern, 
now, evermore, an’ to the death— so help me Heaven !” 

As the hunter completed his proposal, thus emphatic- 
ally ended, he brought his huge hand down upon his 
buckskin-covered breast with a slap like the cracking of a 
pistol. Whatever meaning the girl might have made out 
of his words, she could have had no doubt about their 
earnestness, if judged by the gestures that accompanied 
them. 

Hamersley could not help having a strong provocation 
to mirth, but with an effort he subdued his risibility, and 
feithfully, though not very literally, translated his com- 
rade’s proposal into Spanish. 


l8o A PROPOSAL BY PROXY. 

When, as Walt supposed, he had finished, the hunter 
stood to await the answer, his huge frame trembling like 
the leaf of an aspen. He continued to shake all the while 
Conchita's response was being delivered, though the first 
words might have assured and set his nerves at rest could 
he only have understood them. But he knew not his 
fate till it had passed through the tedious transference 
from one language to another — from Spanish to his own 
native tongue. 

“Tell him,” was the answer of the young girl, given 
without any show of insincerity or the slightest assump- 
tion of mock timidity, “that I love him as much as he 
can or does me ; that I loved him from the first moment 
of seeing him, and shall love him to the end of my life. 
In reply to his honorable proposal, senor, say to him yes ; 
I am willing to become his wife.” 

When the answer was translated to Walt, he bounded 
at least three feet into the air, with a shout of triumph 
resembling that he might have given over the fall of an 
Indian foe. Then rushing toward the girl, he threw his 
great arms around her, lifted her from the ground as if 
she had been a child’s doll, held her to his broad, beating 
bosom, and imprinted a kiss upon her lips, the concussion 
of which might have been heard far beyond the border of 
the hackberry grove. 

The spectacle, though touching upon the grotesque 
and ludicrous, was yet pleasing to him who witnessed it ; 


WHEN THE ANSWER WAS TRANSLATED TO WALT, HE THREW HIS GREAT ARMS AROUND HER 

AND HELD HER TO HIS BROAD, BEATING BOSOM. [page 180 .] 



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A PROPOSAL BY PROXY. 


8i 


for it struck a chord in his own heart sympathetically 
attuned. 

“What a pity,” he reflected, “that there is no church 
near, no priest or other legalized authority to bind the two 
lovers together in the bonds of holy wedlock. ” 

Had there been so, he might have been thinking further 
that more than one couple were ready to submit them- 
selves to the chain. 

In the midst of his reflections came the thought that 
the presence of more than two individuals in that spot 
could be no longer either advantageous or desirable. His 
part had been performed, and he withdrew stealthily, with- 
out saying a word. 

As he passed out through the grove, he fancied he saw 
a form skulking among the trunks of the trees — the form 
of a man. Twilight was now on, and under the branches 
of the hackberries there was an obscurity almost equal to 
that of night. 

What he saw might have been some straying animal, or 
it might have been only fancy. His thoughts were run- 
ning in a new channel, that carried him on toward the 
dwelling; for there one would be awaiting him in whose 
presence, with its divinity of refinement, he would soon 
forget the uncouth spectacle of love — almost its burlesque 
— at which he had been assisting. 

The form seen cowering in the shadow was no fancy of 
Frank Hamersley, but one of real flesh and blood. It had 
followed Conchita from the house, and though in human 


102 


A PROPOSAL BY PROXY. 


shape, had glided after her like a coyote or a snake. It 
was the peon, Manuel, who had thus entered the hack- 
berry grove, and who had been there ever since, though 
observed only by Hamersley on passing out of it. 

The skulker had seen all and heard everything — the 
proposal and its response, even the kiss so loudly pro- 
nounced between the lips of sweethearts. More afterward 
— enough to make him stand for a time with his knife 
half-drawn, his eyes flashing with the fires of a furious 
revenge — the revenge of jealousy. 

For a moment might Walt Wilder’s life have been 
deemed in danger. Fortunately for him the hand of his 
unseen enemy was staid by a coward’s heart, and the 
hope of encompassing his rival’s death by means equally 
effective and with less risk to himself. To kill the Texan 
on the spot, with Conchita as a witness, would be to forfeit 
his own life ; and if he killed both, it would break his own 
heart. Besides, he might fail in the first blow, and then 
the giant would have him under his heel and crush him 
like a reptile. He held his hand and permitted them to 
depart in peace — the woman he wildly loved, and the man 
he as madly hated. 

But after they had gone out of the grove he took his 
seat on the log they had left, and there pondered on a 
scheme of vengeance — sure as the steel of the assassin and 
far safer. He had already conceived and reflected upon it ; 
now he became fixed in the determination to execute it. 
As he passed through the trunks of the trees, sauntering 


A PROPOSAL BY PROXY. 


183 


back toward the ranch, he might have been heard mutter- 
ing words of menace — at least they would have appeared 
so to any one who could have heard and understood them. 
No one heard, and no one could have understood them, 
except his fellow-peon, Chico, for they were spoken in a 
strange tongue. Even Chico would scarcely have com- 
prehended their import. For all this they had a meaning 
— portentous and terrible. 


184 


A DISCONTENTED SCOUNDREL, 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A DISCONTENTED SCOUNDREL. 

Despite his rapid military promotion and the ill-gotten 
wealth he had acquired, Colonel Gil Uraga was anything 
but a happy man. Only at such times as he was engaged 
in some stirring affair of duty or deviltry, or when under 
the influence of drink, was he otherwise than wretched. 
To drink he had taken habitually, almost constantly. It 
was not to drown conscience ; he had none. 

The canker-worm that consumed him was not remorse, 
but the disappointment of a love-passion, coupled with a 
thirst for vengeance. There were moments when he was 
very miserable, his misery reaching acuteness whenever he 
either looked into the mirror, or stood before that portrait 
that hung against the wall of the parlor. For he loved 
Adela Miranda ; and though his was the love of a coarse, 
brutal nature, it was strong and intense as the noblest man 
could feel. 

In earlier days he had believed there was a hope for him 
to obtain her hand. Humble birth is no bar in Mexico 
— land of revolutions, where the sergeant or common 
soldier of to-day may to-morrow be a lieutenant, captain, 
or colonel. This hope had been stimulant to his military 


A DISCONTENTED SCOUNDREL. 


185 

aspirations — perchance one of the causes that had led him 
into crime. He believed that wealth might bridge over 
the social distinction between himself and her; and, in 
this belief, he cared not how it should be acquired. For 
the rest, he was not ill-looking — rather handsome, and 
fairly accomplished. 

His facial beauty, however, was somewhat marred after 
he had received the sword-thrust from his Kentuckian 
adversary— driving out two front teeth and laying open his 
cheek. The teeth were replaced, but the scar could not 
be effaced. It remained a hideous cicatrice. Even the 
whisker, cultivated to its extremest outcrop, would not all 
conceal it. It was too far forward upon his face. 

It was after this unfortunate affair that he had made the 
proposal to Adela Miranda. He could not help thinking 
it had something to do with her abrupt and disdainful 
rejection of him ; though the young lady’s little concealed 
disgust, coupled with her brother’s indignation, had noth- 
ing to do with this physical deformity. But for his blind 
passion he might have perceived it. Fancying it to be so, 
it was not strange that he went half mad, and could be 
heard to utter a fearful oath every time he stood before his 
looking-glass. 

After returning from that strange expedition of murder 
and pillage, he could gaze with a little more equanimity 
into the glass. From the man who had caused the dis- 
figuration on his visage he had exacted a terrible retalia- 
tion. His adversary in the Chihuahua duel was now no 


i86 


A DISCONTENTED SCOUNDREL, 


more. He had met with a fate sufficient to satisfy the 
most implacable spirit of vengeance ; and often afterward, 
both sober and in his cups, would Colonel Uraga break 
out into peals of laughter — like the glee of a demon — as 
he reflected on the sufferings, prolonged and horrible, his 
hated enemy must have had before life became extinct. 

Yet all this did not appease Uraga’s malevolent spirit. 
A portion of his vengeance was due to the second in that 
duel, and it was still incomplete. If it could only be satis- 
fied by the death of Miranda himself, then there would 
still be the other thought to torture him — his thwarted 
love, even stronger than his thirst for vengeance. 

He was seated in the parlor of Miranda's house, which 
he now occupied as his headquarters. He was alone, his 
only companion being the decanter that stood upon a 
table beside him — this and a cigar. It was not wine he 
was drinking, but a beverage distilled from the juice of 
the wild aloe. Wine was too weak to calm his troubled 
spirit, as he glanced toward that portrait upon the wall. 
This night he had done so several times, each time, as he 
turned away, taking a fresh gulp of the liquor and igniting 
another cigar. 

What signified all his success in villainy ? What was life 
worth without possession of her? He would have mur- 
dered his dearest friend to obtain it — plundered him under 
her approving smile. But it was not to be. 

Where could they have gone to? Only to the United 
States — that asylum of rebels and refugees. In the terri- 


A DISCONTENTED SCOUNDREL. 


187 


tory of New Mexico they could not have remained. He 
had searched every nook and corner of it by spies — had 
secured their diligence by promises of reward. He had 
dispatched secret emissaries in all directions; but no word 
of Miranda anywhere— no trace could be found either of 
him or his sister. 

An exclamation too foul for translation escaped through 
his teeth, expressive of his anger at repeated disappoint- 
ments ; and at the same moment a man appeared in the 
door-way. After a gesture of permission to enter, he 
stepped inside the room. 

He was an officer in full uniform — one whom we have 
met before, though not then in military costume. It was 
Lieutenant Roblez, his adjutant, as also his fellow-robber 
and co-assassin. 

‘‘I’m glad you’ve come, adjutant,” he said, motioning 
the new-comer to a seat. “To say the truth, I was feeling 
lonely, and wanted company to cheer me. You, Roblez, 
are just the man for that, you’ve got such a gift of con- 
versation. ” 

This was ironical, for Roblez was silent as an owl. 

“ Sit down,” he added. “ Have a cigar and a glass of 
this capital stuff.” 

“I’ve brought other company,” said the adjutant, still 
keeping his feet. 

“ Ah ! Some of the officers from the barracks .? Bring 
them in.” 

“ It’s not any of them, colonel. It’s a stranger.” 


88 


A DISCONTENTED SCOUNDREL. 


“Stranger or not, you’re free to introduce him. I 
hope,’’ added he, in an undertone, “it’s some man who 
won’t mind trying his luck at monte. I’m just in the vein 
for a bit of gambling.” 

“The man I wish to introduce doesn’t look as if he had 
much to lose. From what I can see of him in the dark- 
ness, I should say that the blanket upon his shoulders, 
and the sheepskin small clothes — somewhat torn at that — 
are about all the property he possesses. ” 

‘ ‘ He is a stranger to you, then ?” 

“As much as he will be to yourself, after seeing him — 
perhaps more.” 

“ But what sort of a man is he?” 

“For that matter, colonel, he can hardly be described 
as a white man. He’s only an Indian.” 

“Ha! Comanche?” 

As he put this interrogatory, the colonel commandant 
gave a slight start, and looked a little uneasy. His relations 
with men of the Indian race were of a delicate nature, and 
although he was keen to cultivate their acquaintance when 
occasion required it, he preferred keeping all Indians at 
a distance, and especially Comanches, when he had no 
particular need for their services. The thought had flashed 
into his mind that the man waiting to be ushered into his 
presence might be a messenger from the Horned Lizard, 
and with this redskin he desired no further dealings — 
at least for a time. Therefore the thought of it being an 
emissary from the Tenawa chief just then slightly discom- 


A DISCONTENTED SCOUNDREL. 189 

posed him. The reply of his subordinate, however, on 
this head reassured him. 

“No, colonel; he is not a Comanche. Bears no re- 
semblance to one, only in the color of his skin. He ap- 
pears to be a Pueblo, and from his tattered costume I 
should take him to be a poor peon.” 

“But what does he want with me?” 

“That I cannot tell, only that he has expressed a very 
urgent desire to speak with you. I fancy he's got some- 
thing to say that it might be important for you to hear, 
else I should not have promised to introduce him. ” 

“You have promised?” 

“I have, colonel. He is outside ; shall I bring him in?’" 

“By all means. There can be no harm in hearing what 
the fellow has to say. It may be about some threatened 
invasion of the savages; and as protectors of the people, 
you, adjutant, know it is our duty to do all in our power 
to ward off such a catastrophe.” 

The colonel laughed at his wry jest, Roblez grimly 
joining him in the laughter. 

“Bring the brute in !” was the command that followed, 
succeeded by the injunction; “Stay outside yourself till 
1 send for or call you. The fellow may have something 
to say intended for only one pair of ears. Take another 
glass of liquor, light a cigaritto, and amuse yourself in 
the garden. ” 

The adjutant followed the first two of these directions ; 
and stepping out, left his superior officer alone. 


190 


A DISCONTENTED SCOUNDREL. 


Uraga glanced around to assure himself there were 
weapons within reach. With a conscience like his — a soul 
loaded with crime — no wonder. 

His saber rested against the wall, close to his hand, 
and a pair of dragoon pistols were upon the table within 
reach. 

Thus satisfied, he awaited the entrance of the Indian. 


IN CONFIDENCE, 


191 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

IN CONFIDENCE. 

Only a short interval, not more than a score of seconds, 
had passed, when the door once more opening, displayed 
to Uraga his visitor. Roblez, after ushering him into the 
room, withdrew, and commenced pacing to and fro in the 
garden. 

Yet Uraga felt inclined to laugh as he contemplated the 
new-comer, and reflected on the precautions he had taken. 
A poor devil of an Indian peon, in coarse woolen shirt, 
tanned sheepskin trousers reaching only to the knee, bare 
legs below, and a straw hat on his head, his long black 
hair hanging unkempt and neglected over his shoulders, a 
mien humble and eyes downcast, like all of his tribe. 

And yet it could be seen that on occasion those eyes 
could glow with a light that might indicate danger — a 
fierce, fiery light, such as might have shone in the orbs of 
his ancestors when they rallied around Guatimozin, and 
with clubs and stakes beat back the spears and swords of 
their Spanish invaders. 

At the entrance of this unpretentious savage into the 
splendidly furnished apartment, his first act was to pull off 
his battered straw hat and make humble obeisance to the 
gorgeously attired officer who sat beside the table. 


192 


IN CONFIDENCE. 


Up to this time Uraga had supposed him to be a 
stranger, but when the broad brim of the hat no longer 
cast its shadow over his face, and his eyelids became 
elevated through increasing confidence, the colonel sprang 
to his feet, with an exclamatory phrase that told of recog- 
nition. 

“Manuel!” he said; “you are Mafnuel, the servant of 
Don Valerian Miranda?” 

“Yes, colonel; at your excellency's service,” was the 
reply, humbly spoken, and accompanied with a second 
sweep of the straw hat, as graceful as if given by a Ches- 
terfield. 

At sight of this old acquaintance a world of wild thought 
rushed crowding across the brain of Gil Uraga — conjec- 
ture, mingled with hopeful anticipation. It came back to 
his memory that at the time of Miranda’s escape some of 
his domestics had gone off with him; and he remem- 
bered, also, that Manuel was one of them. In the Indian 
now standing so respectfully before him he saw, or fancied 
he saw, the first link of that chain that might enable him 
to trace the fugitives. Manuel should know something 
about their whereabouts; Manuel was now in his power 
for any purpose — for life or death. 

There was that in the air and attitude of the Indian 
that told him there would be no nec^ to resort to compul- 
sory measures. The information he desired could be had 
without this; and he began to seek it by adopting the 
opposite course. 


IN CONFIDENCE, 


193 


“My poor fellow,” he said, “you look distressed — as if 
you had just come from a long and toilsome journey. 
Here, take a taste of something to recuperate your 
strength, then you can repeat what you’ve got to say. I 
presume you have got some communication to make to 
me, as the military commandant of the district. Night 
or day, I am always ready to give a hearing to those 
who bring information that concerns the interests of the 
State.” 

The colonel poured out a stiff glass of liquor, which 
Manuel took from his hands, and nothing lotk, spilled 
between his two rows of white, glittering teeth. 

Upon him, unused to it, the fiery liquor was almost 
instantaneous in its effects, and in a moment after he 
became freely communicative, if. not so disposed before. 
But he had been, and therefore the disclosures that fol- 
lowed were less due to alcohol than to a passion far more 
inflammatory. 

“ Tve missed you from about here, Manuel.” said the 
colonel, making his approaches with skill. “Where have 
you been all this while ?” 

“ With my master,” was the peon’s reply. 

“Ah, indeed? I thought your master had gone clear 
out of the country.” 

“Out of the settled part of it only, senor.” 

“Oh, he is still then within Mexican territory? I am 
glad to hear it. I sorry to think we had lost such a 
good citizen and true’patriot as Colonel Miranda. True, 


194 


IN CONFIDENCE. 


he and I differ in our views as regards government, but 
that’s nothing, you know, Manuel. Men may be bitter 
political enemies, and good friends for all that By the 
way, where is the colonel now V* 

Despite his apparent stolidity, the peon was not «o shal- 
low as to be misled by talk like this. With a full knowl- 
edge of the situation, forced upon him by various events, 
the badinage of the brilliant colonel did not for a moment 
blind him. Circumstances had given him enough insight 
into Uraga’s character and position to know his motives to 
some extent resembled his own. He knew that the col- 
onel-commandant was in love with his young mistress as 
nach as he himself with her maid. Without his knowl- 

15 \ 

dge he might not have been there — at least, not with so 
confident an expectation cf success in the design that had 
brought him, for design he had, deep and traitorous. 

Despite the influence of the liquor, which was fast 
loosening his tongue, he was yet a little cautious in his 
communications; and not until Uraga had repeated the 
question did he make reply to it. Then came the answer, 
still slowly and reluctantly, as if from one of his long- 
'suffering race, who had discovered a mine of precious 
metal, and was being put to the torture to divulge it 
“Senor colonel,” he said, ‘^how much will your excel- 
lency give to know where my master now is? I have 
heard that there is a very large bounty offered for Don 
Miranda’s head. ” 

“That is an affair that concerns the State, Manuel. I 


IN CONFIDENCE. 


195 


have myself nothing personally to do with it Still, as an 
officer of the government, it is my duty to do all I can for 
making your master a prisoner. I think I might promise 
the reward to any one who could produce the fugitive 
rebekand bring him before the bar of justice. Can you 
do that 

‘^No, your excellency, not so much as that Fm only 
a poor peon, and not powerful enough. To attempt 
making a prisoner of Don Miranda would cost me my 
life and the lives of many more like me. It will take 
strong soldiers to do it ” 

‘^Talking of strength, my good Manuel, you don’t se^m 
to have quite recovered yours. You must have had a ^ y 
fatiguing journey. Take another glass of this reviving b^v^- 
erage. You are in need of it, and it will do you good.” 

Pressure of this sort, put upon an Indian peon, is rarely 
resisted. Nor was it in this case. Manuel readily yielded 
to it, and drank off another glass. Before the strong alco- 
hol could have fairly settled in his stomach, its fumes were 
coursing through his skull. 

The cowed, cautious manner, a marked characteristic of 
his tribe, soon forsook him ; the check-string of his tongue 
became fully relaxed ; and, with nothing remaining before 
his mind but the one scheme of securing Conchita, he 
betrayed the whole secret of Colonel Miranda’s escape, the 
story of his retreat across the Staked Plain, and residence 
in the Lone Ranch. 

When he told of the two guests who had strayed to thq 


196 


IN CONFIDENCE. 


solitary dwelling, and, despite his maudlin talk, minutely 
described the men, his listener sprang up with an oath, 
accompanied by a gesture of such violence as to overturn 
the table, sending cigars, decanters, and glasses to the 
floor. 

He did not look to see the damage righted, but, with a 
loud shout, summoned in his adjutant, and then the cor- 
poral of the guard. 

^‘CaboT he said, addressing himself to the latter in a 
tone at once vociferous and commanding, take this man 
to the guard-house, and keep him there, so that he be 
forthcoming when wanted. If he is missing, Cabo, you 
shall be shot ten minutes after I receive the report of his 
disappearance. Take the word of your colonel for that.” 

From the way that the corporal had hold of the surprised 
peon — almost throttling him — it was evident he did not 
intend running much risk of being shot by letting his 
prisoner escape, while the Indian appeared suddenly 
sobered by the rough treatment he was receiving ; but he 
was still too much astonished to find speech for protest. 
Dumb, and without making the slightest resistance, he 
was dragged out through the door, to all appearance more 
dead than alive. 

“Come, adjutant,” cried the colonel, as soon as the 
door closed behind the coporal and his prisoner, “drink! 
Let us drink! First \.o revenge! It is not accomplished 
as yet. No; it has all to be gone over again; but it is 
sure now— surer than ever. After that we shall drink to 


IN CONFIDENCE. 


197 


my success in love. It is not hopeless, either. She is 
found again — found, adjutant ! Ah I my pretty Adela !” 
he exclaimed, staggering toward the portrait, and in tipsy 
glee contemplating it, ‘‘you thought to escape me. But 
no. Nothing can get away from Gil Uraga — friend, sweet- 
heart, or enemy. You shall yet be mine, infolded in these 
arms 1” 






198 


A MYSTERIOUS DISPATCH, 


CHAPTER XXX. 

A MYSTERIOUS DISPATCH. 

Uraga did not long continue his carousal in company 
with Roblez. He had an important matter upon his 
mind ; and, after the excitement caused by Manuel's com- 
munication had to some extent given way to calmer reflec- 
tion, he dismissed his adjutant, who went back to the 
barracks. 

Though taking part with his colonel in many a criminal 
transaction, and having to share in the spoils, Roblez left 
all the planning to the superior ofiicer, who, on his side, 
had secrets he did not always divulge to the confederate. 
He was desperate even in his villainies, and brooked no 
interference with his schemes. 

And he had now conceived one of a nature he did not 
care to make known to any one — not even to Roblez — 
until such time as he might think it befitting for him to 
know it It was not that he dreaded treachery on the part 
of his fellow-freebooter. There was no danger of that 
They were too much mutually compromised to tell tales 
upon each other. 

Besides, Roblez, although a man of courage, had a 
strong fear of Uraga ; for he knew him to be one who, if 


A MYSTERIOUS DISPATCH. 


199 


his hostility was once gained or his vengeance provoked, 
would stop at nothing short of complete and terrible retri- 
bution. Hence the control which his colonel had over 
him — so great that, while using him as an aid in his deeds 
of spoliation, he was still only rewarded by a limited share 
in the profits. 

Uraga’s chief motive for concealing many of his schemes 
from his adjutant was due more than aught else to a moral 
peculiarity. He was of a strangely constituted nature — 
secretive to the last degree — a quality on which he prided 
himself. It was his delight to deal in this habit whenever 
the opportunity offered, just as it is with the cheat and the 
detective. 

After the adjutant had left him, he remained for some 
time alone, reflecting; and then calling the corporal of 
the guard, he directed him once more to bring in the 
Indian. 

The prisoner, still wondering why he had been made 
one, soon after appeared, and in charge of the corporal, 
who was commanded to close the door and remain in 
waiting outside. 

Thus closeted, Uraga put Manuel through a fresh pro- 
cess of examination, which elicited further facts in relation 
to those about whom he was so much interested. In fact, 
he made himself minutely acquainted with everything that 
had occurred, the Indian having been once more pacified, 
and the tongue for the second time untied by a fresh 
lubrication of liquor. 


200 


A MYSTERIOUS DISPATCH. 


Among the things he was questioned about, the situa- 
tion of the valley where the refugees had found an asylum, 
the direction, distance, and means of access to it — in short, 
its whole topography. 

These questions he could answer satisfactorily, and did. 
He was then strictly examined about the personages there 
residing, especially the two strangers who had come as 
guests— when they had arrived, their reception, behavior, 
and doings. 

These last interrogatories disclosed to Uraga a state of 
things — one fact in particular — tha.t caused the blood to 
run rankly through his heart, and brought over his coun- 
tenance a look of such bitter malignity that the traitor, in 
fear for his own safety, repented having told him of it. It 
was the tender relations that had been established between 
Frank Hamersley and the Senorita Miranda. 

When the cross-questioning was finished, and he had 
told all he knew, Uraga once more committed him to the 
charge of the corporal, at the same time promising that 
his incarceration was only precautionary, and would not 
be for long. 

As soon as he was taken out, Uraga betook himself to a 
desk that stood in one of the rooms, and opening it, he 
sat down, drew forth a sheet of paper, and commenced 
writing. 

It had the appearance of being an epistle, but whatever 
it was, the composition occupied him some little time. 


A MYSTERIOUS DISPATCH, 


201 


Occasionally he stopped using the pen, appearing to reflect 
on what should be written. 

When it was at length completed, apparently to his 
satisfaction, he folded the sheet, thrust a stick of sealing- 
wax into the flame of the candle, and sealed the docu- 
ment, but without using any seal-stamp — a small silver coin 
taken from his pocket gave the necessary impression. 

There did not appear to be any name appended to 
the epistle — if this it was; and the superscription now 
written upon the outside showed only the two words, 
*‘Par Sanchez.” 

A spring-bell, that stood on the desk, being touched, a 
man entered the room — one of the ordinary domestics. 

‘‘Go to the stables, ” commanded his master, “or the 
corral, or wherever he is, and tell Pedrillo that I want him. 
Be quick about it.” 

The man bowed and went off. 

“It will take them how many days to reach the Ten- 
awa’s town, and how many back to the Pecos.?” solilo- 
< ^^ra' .a, pacing the floor as he made his calculations. 

, )ur — five — no matter. If before them, I can 
come. Pedrillo 1” 

had made his appearance — an Indian of the 
, not greatly differing from the man Manuel, 
as sinister a countenance. But we have seen 
^ Tore, aJ be was one of the two muleteers who 
:ted the ' un wl ich carried the goods from the 


;aravan. 


202 


A MYSTERIOUS DISPATCH. 


**Pedrillo,” commanded his master, ‘'catch a couple of 
the best horses in the corral — one for yourself, the other 
for Jose. Have them saddled, and get yourselves ready 
for a journey of two weeks or so. Make all haste with 
your preparations, then back here and report yourself.” 

The muleteer disappeared, and Uraga continued to pace 
the floor, still apparently busied in a mental measurement 
of time and distance. At intervals he would stop before 
the portrait on the wall, and for a second or two gaze 
upon it. This seemed to increase his impatience for the 
reappearance of Pedrillo. 

He had not very long to wait. The outfit of a New 
Mexican traveler of the peon class is of no great weight 
or complexity, and soon Pedrillo reported himself ready 
to take the road, or trail, or whatever sort of path, and 
on whatever errand it might please his master to dis- 
patch him. 

“You will go straight to the Tenawa town — Horned 
Lizard’s — on the south branch of the Goo-al-pah. You 
can find your way to the place, Pedrillo? You have been 
there before?” 

Pedrillo nodded in the affirmative. 

“Take this,” said Uraga, handing him the sealed 
epistle. “See that you show it to no one you may meet 
before getting beyond the settlements. Give it to the 
Horned Lizard, or you may hand it to Sanchez himself — 
it’s for him. You are to ride night and day, as fast as 
your horses can carry you. When you’ve delivered it you 


A MYSTERIOUS DISPATCH, 


203 


needn’t wait, but come directly back — not here, but to 
the Alamo. You know the place? — where we met the 
Tenawas six weeks ago. You will find me there.” 

On receiving these instructions, Pedrillo vanished from 
the room, a strange cast in his oblique Indian eye telling 
that he knew himself to be once more, what he had often 
been before — an emissary of evil 


204 


THE INTERCEP2ED LETTER, 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE INTERCEPTED LETTER. 

“By the way, Don Francisco, you never told me what 
the contents of your letter were.” 

“What letter, colonel?” 

“That you say you sent me by the spring caravan, and 
which, as you are now aware, never reached me.” 

“ Oh — it ! Well, merely to say that I was coming back 
to New Mexico, and hoped to find you in good health. ” 

“Did it particularize the time you expected to arrive at 
Santa Fe, or elsewhere?” 

“Yes; as far as I could fix it, I think it did.” 

“The route by which you intended to travel?” 

“That, too. I said I intended to make trial of a new 
trail, lately discovered, up the Canadian, and skirting the 
northern end of the Staked Plain. An unfortunate spec- 
ulation, as it turned out. ' 

Perhaps, had Adela Miranda been taking part in the 
conversation, Don Francisco would not have made the 
last remark. Nor, on reflection and in secret thought, did 
he indorse it. She was not present — only her brother, his 
two guests, Frank Hamersley and Walt Wilder, with the 
old doctor, Don Prospero. They were smoking their 


THE INTERCEPTED LETTER. 


205 


cigars and drinking a bottle of wine, after the senorita had 
retired to rest. 

“Why did you ask, Colonel Miranda?” 

The question was put by the young Kentuckian, who, 
as also the other two, had noticed that their host was 
unusually meditative. 

“Because,” said Miranda, “Fvebeen thinking a good 
deal about the attack on your caravan. The more I reflect 
upon it, the more am I led to suspect that there were 
painted Indians in the party that plundered you.” 

“They appeared to be all painted,” was the simple 
rejoinder made by the young prairie-merchant. 

“That isn’t what I mean, Don Francisco.” 

“This child knows what he mean,” interposed Wilder, 
starting up ’excitedly from his seat, as the Mexican made 
the remark. “That’s been my surspeeshun all along. 
You know what I tolt ye, Frank?” 

Hamersley looked interrogatively, as also did Don 
Prospero. 

“Did not I say that I seed two men among the Injuns 
wi’ har upon thar faces? They wan’t Injun — they war 
white. Ain’t that what ye mean, kurnel?” 

“Precisely!” was the colonel’s reply. 

All waited for him again to speak and give the explana- 
tion. Wilder already half guessed it; the doctor more 
than half. Even the Kentuckian, less experienced in 
Mexican ways and wickedness, began to have a glimmer- 
ing of the truth. 


2o6 


THE INTERCEPTED LETTER. 


Seemingly weighing well his words, Miranda continued: 

“No doubt it was a band of Comanches who attacked 
and destroyed your caravan and killed your comrades. 
But I have as little doubt that there was a white man 
among them — one, at least, who planned and instigated 
the deed.'* 

“Who, Colonel Miranda?” was the quick interrogatory 
of the Kentuckian, who spoke first because he was the only 
one of the four who now needed explanation. Nor did he 
much need it, for the name pronounced by Miranda was 
upon the point of his own tongue. It was “ UragaT 

“Yes,” said the refugee colonel; “Gil Uraga is un- 
doubtedly the robber who has despoiled you, though it 
was done in the guise of an Indian attack, and with real 
Indians as his assistants. I see it all now clear as sun- 
light. He got your letter addressed to me as colonel 
commanding the district of Albuquerque. As a matter 
of course, he opened it. It told him when and where to 
meet you, your strength, the value of your cargo, every- 
thing. The last was not needed as an incentive for Gil 
Uraga to attack you, Don Francisco. The scar you left 
upon his cheek w^as sufficient. Didn’t I tell you at the 
time he would move heaven and earth to be revenged 
upon both of us? He has striven well; and behold his 
success ! I, a hunted refugee, robbed of everything ; you 
almost the same ; both of us ruined men !” 

“Not yet!” exclaimed the Kentuckian, springing to 
his feet, as if the juice of the grapes had got into his 


THE INTERCEPTED LETTER, 


20 '^ 


head. ‘‘Not ruined yet, Colonel Miranda. If it be j 
you say, I will follow this fiend, if need be, into the very 
heart of Mexico, and get my own out of him/' 

“Thar’s one'll go wi' ye!" cried Walt Wilder, wir 
unusual rapidity unfolding his gigantic form. “Yi 
Frank, to the heart o' Mexiko, plum center; thet a'> 
place I've heern so much talk’d o’ — the pallis o' Mont; 
zooma. Hyar’s a goodish-sized child riddy for the start 1’ 
“If,” said Hamersley, his coolness coming back, as he 
saw the more irrational enthusiam of his comrade, “if, 
Colonel Miranda, it should turn out as we have conjec- 
tured, surely there is law in your land; not much, I 
suspect, but enough for an outrage like this?” 

“My dear Don Francisco,” replied the Mexican ex-col- 
onel, quietly rolling a fresh cigarette between his fingers, 
“ there is law for those who have the power and influence 
to obtain it. In New Mexico, as you must yourself know, 
might makes right; and never more than at this present 
hour. Don Manuel Armigo is once more the governor of^ 
my unfortunate fatherland. When I tell you that he rose 
to his present position by just such an act as that which 
has despoiled you, you may then understand the sort of 
law administered in New Mexico. Manuel Armigo was a 
shepherd — employed on one occasion to drive a flock of 
thirty thousand sheep, the property of his masters, the 
Senores Lino and Charez, to the northern markets of Chi- 
huahua. While crossing the Jernada del Muerte, he and 
one or two confederates, whom he had instructed in his 


2o8 the intercepted letter. 

plan, disguised t’lemselves as Apache Indians, attacked 
their fellow sheep-drivers, murdered them, and made 
themselves masters of the whole flock. Then, pulling 
the plumes from their heads, and washing the paint off 
their faces, they drove their charge to a different market, 
sold them, and returned to Lino and Charez to tell a tale 
of Indian spoliation, and how they themselves had escaped 
with the hair still safe on their heads. This is the true 
history of General Manuel Armigo, now governing New 
Mexico ; at least, that of his first beginnings. With such, 
and many similar deeds by him done since, is it likely he 
would look with any other than a lenient eye on the 
doings of Gil Uraga, his pet.? No, Don Francisco, not 
even if you could prove the present colonel-commandant 
of Albuquerque, in full open court, to have been the man 
who despoiled yourself and butchered your companions.’" 

‘^I shall try, for all that,” said Hamersley, his heart 
half in sorrow at the remembrance of his slaughtered com- 
rades, and half bursting with the bitterness of balked 
vengeance. Don’t suppose. Colonel Miranda, that I 
intend resting my cause on the clemency of Don Manuel 
Armigo, or any doubtful justice to be expected at his hands. 
There’s a wide stretch of prairie between the United States 
and Mexico, but not so wide as to hinder our American 
eagle from flapping its wings across it, and giving protec- 
tion to all of us who stray this way — even to us poor 
prairie traders. A thousand thanks, my dear colonel. I 
owe you far more for twice saving my life ; and now for 


THE INTERCEPTED LETTER, 


209 


setting me on the true track of the sci'<j*pndrel who has 
since endangered it. Parting from your hospitality, I shall 
go in search of him — direct to the valley of the Del Norte. 
If I find our man there, and discover that we are not 
wronging him by our conjectures, don’t fear that I shall 
fail in obtaining justice, whatever Don Manuel Armigo 
may do to defeat it.” 

^‘More’n justice !” added the hunter-guide, again spring- 
ing from his seat with a violent gesticulation. S* Only think 
o’ thirteen innocent men — every one o’em brave as lions — 
attackted ’ithout word o’ warnin’, shot down, slaughtered, 
an’ sculped ’mong the tongues an’ wheels o’ wagons ; think 
o’ thet, an’ then don’t talk about justice; 
revenger 


210 


BROTHER AND SISTER, 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

BROTHER AND SISTER. 

*‘I have news for you, my dear — news that will be 
pleasant. ” 

It was Colonel Miranda speaking to his sister, one morn- 
ing after his guest had gone out 

‘‘What news. Valerian?” 

“We shall at last have an opportunity of leaving this 
lone place. Our residence here, away from all society, 
has been a harsh experience — for you, dear sister, a ter- 
rible one.” 

“In that, brother, you mistake. You know I never 
cared a straw for what the world calls ‘society.' I've 
always liked better being free from its restraint and con- 
ventionalities. Give me Nature for my companion — 
Nature in her wildest moods.” 

“ Here you have had them, I should think, to a surfeit” 

“No ; not to a surfeit. I have never been happier than 
in this, our wilderness home. How different from the 
convent-school — or prison, I should rather style it. Oh 1 
it has been charming ; and if I were to have my way, it 
should never come to an end. Conchita tells me that 
Manuel has returned from the Del Norte. He has brought 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


211 


you news, and there is a hope of your being permitted to 
go back. I don’t wish it, brother. After what has passed, 

I hate New Mexico, and would stay all my life in the 
desert.” 

“Manuel has returned, but with no such news. On 
the contrary, the despots are stronger and more insulting 
than ever. Armigo now governs without the slightest 
responsibility; while the ruffian Uraga lords it around Al- 
buquerque. Manuel reports that he is actually living in 
our house, which has been made over to him by confisca- 
tion.' Besides, the reward is still offered for my arrest, or 
the discovery of my whereabouts. No, Adela; when I 
spoke of an opportunity of leaving this place, I did not 
think of going back to the Nel Norte.” 

“Where then, brother?” 

“In the very opposite direction — to the United States. 
Don Francisco counsels me to do so, and I have yielded 
to his counsel. ” 

Adela seemed less disposed to offer opposition to this 
change. She did not protest against it. 

“I thought Senor Hamersley was himself going to the 
Del Norte,” she said, and then listened with apparent 
eagerness for the answer. 

“He is, but only to stay for a short time. He will 
then return to his own country, and proposes that we all 
accompany him. Dear sister, we cannot do better. There 
seems no hope of our unfortunate country getting rid of 
her tyrants— at least for some time to come. When the 


212 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


next day comes round for our patriots to arise, I shall 
know it in time to return. Now, we can only think of 
safety ; and although I don’t wish to alarm you. I’ve never 
felt safe here. Who knows but that Uraga may yet dis- 
cover our Lone Ranch, even in the heart of the desert? 
He has his scouts everywhere, and we now know of his 
being leagued with the savages. Every time Manuel makes 
a visit to the settlements, I have my fear of his being fol- 
lowed back. In any case, it will be better for us to go 
with Don Francisco. He and I have talked the matter 
over, along with the hunter and the doctor. We are all 
of one mind about it. Since his arrival, the hunter has 
been exploring every nook in the neighborhood. He is of 
the opinion that our little stream here is one of the head- 
waters of the great river of Texas — the Brazos de Dios. 
He knows Texas well, having spent the greater part of his 
life there. He proposes that we should descend this stream, 
trusting to his guidance to take us to some of the settle- 
ments below. What can be better or safer ?” 

‘ ‘ But I thought Senor Hamersley intended going to the 
Del Norte.” • 

“Upon that he is determined. I have told him that 
there is danger — have pointed it out to him. He only 
makes light of it. He has been robbed, and has reason 
to suspect who have been the robbers. By going to the 
Del Norte he hopes to find a clew to their identification. 
Even if he should, there will still be danger for him.” 

“Dear brother, do try to dissuade him !” 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


213 


If Hamersley could have heard the earnest tone in which 
the appeal was spoken, it would no doubt have given him 
gratification. 

“ I have tried, but to no purpose. It is not the loss of 
his property ; he is generous, and does not regard it. His 
motive is a holier one. His comrades have been killed 
murdered. He says he must seek the assassins and obtain 
redress — their punishment — even at the risk of sacrificing 
his own life. I have tried, dear Adela. It is useless to 
attempt restraining him.” 

“ Noble man— a hero ! Who could help loving him 

This was not spoken aloud, nor to any one. It was a 
soliloquy, secret and silent, heard only within the heart of 
her who conceived it. 

“If you wish,” continued Colonel Miranda, “I will see 
him again, and endeavor to dissuade him from this reck- 
less course, though I know there is little hope. Stay ! A 
thought strikes me. Suppose you try, sister. A woman’s 
words are more likely to be listened to ; and I know that 
yours will have weight with Don Francisco. He looks 
upon you as the savior of his life, and may yield to your 
request. ” 

“If you think so. Valerian ” 

“I do. Stay where you are, sister. I will send him 

to you.” ^ 


314 


LOVE AND DUTY, 


CHAPfER XXXIII. 

LOVE AND DUTY. 

With a heart heaving and surging, Hamersley stood in 
the presence of her who was causing its tumultuous excite- 
ment. Into that presence he had been summoned, and 
knew it. Her brother had spoken point-blank the invita- 
tion : ‘‘Don Francisco, my sister wishes to see you." 
To which Don Francisco had readily, though tremblingly, 
responded. 

What was to fee the import of an interview unexpected, 
unsought, apparently commanded ? 

It seems superfluous to say that the young prairie-mer- 
chant was by this time passionately in love with Adela 
Miranda. Even the portrait, seen hanging against the wall 
at Albuquerque, had predisposed him to such a passion. 
The features of Morisco-Andalusian type, so unlike those 
in his own land; the description of her given by her 
brother, coupled with the incidents that led to friendly 
relations with that brother, all piquing to curiosity, had 
sown the first seeds of a tender sentiment. It had not 
died out. Neither time nor disrance had obliterated it 
Far off, even when occupied with the pressing claims of 
business, that portrait face had often appeared upon the 


LOVE AND DUTY. 


215 


retina of his memory^ and more than once shown itself 
in the visions of dreamland. And now that he had looked 
upon it in reality, saw it in all its loving beauty, sur- 
rounded by scenes strangely wild as its own expression, 
amid incidents as romantic as his fancy could have con- 
ceived— now that he knew it to be the face of her who had 
saved his life — is it any wonder that the sentiment first 
provoked by the portrait should become a passion at sight 
of herself? 

It had done so — a passion all-pervading : and the strong 
Kentuckian trembled as he reflected on the chances of its 
being reciprocated and returned. This he had been doing 
every day and every hour from that in which consciousness 
became restored to him ; and upon a word spoken in that 
hour had he rested more hope than upon all seen or heard 
since. Ever in his ear rang that sweet soliloquy that told " 
him he was not alone in the chamber. 

There had been nothing afterward, neither word nor 
deed, to strengthen the belief that he was beloved. The 
beautiful girl had been a tender nurse, a hostess, appa- 
rently solicitous to give satisfaction — nothing more. Was 
the soliloquy he had heard but a trite speech unfelt and 
unmeaning, or had it been but an illusion born from the 
still-lingering distemper of his brain ? 

He longed to know the truth. Every hour that he 
remained in ignorance of it he was in torture, equaling 
that of Tantalus or Sisyphus. And yet he feared to seek 
the revelation, for in it might be ruin. 


2j6 


LOVE AND DUTY. 


How he envied Walt Wilder his comjhon love and its 
conquest, and somewhat coarse declaration ! What would 
he not have given to have received a similar answer ? A 
score of times he had been on the eve of asking the same 
question. 

Hi trade’s success should have emboldened him. It 
did not ; tt ^re was no parallel between the parties. 

He had de*^d seeking that knowledge he most desired 
to possess. Bi? it was now nearing the last moment, and 
he had arrived at a resolution. He was soon to take 
departure from that spot where he had experienced so 
much pleasure, mingled with an imaginary pain. What 
was in the future before him? Happiness or misery? Joy 
delirious or the wildest of woe? A word from Adela 
Miranda would decide which — a word of one syllable. He 
had at length made up his mind to ask for and have it. 
In this mood was he when summoned to her side. No 
wonder he came trembling into her presence. 

“Senorita,” he said, despite all that had passed, address- 
ing her with distant respect, “your brother has told me 
you wish to speak with me.” ^ 

“I do, Don Francisco,” she replied, without quail in 
her look or quiver in her voice. A judge upon his bench • 
could not have looked more unmovedly me culprit 
before him. 

In returning her glance, Hamersley felt as if his case 
was hopeless. The thought of proposing at once passed 
from his mind. He simply said : 


LOVE AND DUTY. 


217 


“May I ask, senorita, what it is you wish to speak to 
me about?” 

“About your going back to the Rio Del Norte. My 
brother tells me such is your intention. I wish you not to 
go, Don Francisco. There is danger in your doing it.” 

“ It is my duty. ” 

^ ‘ In what way ? Explain yourself. ” 

“My men have been slain — murdered, I may say. 
Thirteen of them in all, comrades and followers. I have 
reason to believe that by going to Albuquerque I can 
find these assassins, or, at all events, their chief, and, per- 
haps, bring him to justice. I intend trying, if it cost me 
my life.” 

“Do you reflect, Don Francisco, what your life is 
worth?” 

“To me not much.” 

“It may be to others. You have at home a mother, 
brothers, sisters — perhaps one still dearer?” 

“ No ; not at home.” 

“Elsewhere, then?” 

Hamersley was silent under this searching inquiry. 

“Do you not think that danger to your life would be 
unhappiness to hers— your death her misery ?” 

^ ‘ My disgrace should be more so, as it would to myself. 
Senorita, it is not vengeance I feel toward those who have 
murdered my comrades; only a esire to bring them to 
justice. I must do it, or else proclaim myself a poltroon, 
a coward, with a self-accusation that would give me a life- 


2i8 


LOVE AND DUTY. 


long remorse. No, senorita, it is kind of you to take an 
interest in my safety. I already owe you my life, but I 
cannot permit even you to save it again at the sacrifice of 
honor, of duty, of humanity.” 

There was just a sprinkling of pique in this speech — the 
slightest touch of bravado. 

Hamersley fancied himself being coldly judged and 
counseled with indifference. Had he known the warm, 
wild emotion that was struggling in the heart of her who 
conversed with him, he would have made answer in a 
different style. 

Soon after he was speaking in an altered tone, and with 
a changed understanding; and so was she, hitherto so diffi- 
cult of comprehension. 

‘‘Go!” she said; “go and get justice for your fallen 
comrades, and, if you can, punishment for their assassins. 
But remember, Don Francisco, if it bring death to you, 
there is one who will not care to live after you!" 

“Who?” cried the Kentuckian, springing forward with 
heart and eyes aflame. “ Who?” 

He scarcely needed to ask the question. It was already 
answered by the emphasis on the last words spoken. 

But it was again answered in a more tranquil tone, the 
long, dark lashes of the speaker vailing her eyes with 
modest resignation, as she pronounced her own name : 

“ Adela Miranda 1” 

From poverty to riches, from the dungeon to bright 
daylight, from the agonized struggle of drowning to that 


LOVE AND_ DUTY. 


219 


confident feeling when the feet stand firm upon the shore, 
are all sensations of happiness. They are but dull in 
comparison with the delirious joy which is the lot of the 
despairing lover on finding that his despair has been but a 
fancy, and his passion is reciprocated. 

Such an experience had Frank Hamersley, as he heard 
the name pronounced. It was like a mystic speech, open- 
ing to him the portals of heavea 


220 


RETURNING FROM A RAID, 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

RETURNING FROM A RAID. 

An Indian encampment. It is upon a creek called 
Pecan, a confluent of the Little Witchita River, heading 
about a hundred miles from the eastern edge of the Staked 
Plain. 

There are no tents in the encampment — not even a tent- 
pole ; only here and there a buffalo robe extended hori- 
zontally upon upright sticks, branches that have been cut 
from the pecan. These and the umbrageous canopy of 
the trees protect the encamped warriors from the fervid 
rays of a noonday sun, striking vertically down. 

That they are warriors is evidenced by the absence of 
tents. A peaceful party on its ordinary passage across the 
prairies would have its lodges along with it — grand council 
structures of dressed buffalo skins — with the squaws that 
set them up, and the dogs or ponies that transported them 
scattered around. 

In this encampment on the Pecan are neither squaws, 
dogs, nor ponies. Only men, naked to the waiSt, their 
bodies above painted, chequered like parchments or the 
tight-fitting jackets of the stage-harlequin, some showing 
devices fantastic, even ludicrous, others of an aspect ter- 
rible as the death’s-head and crossbones. 


RETURNING FROM A RAID. 


221 


4n old prairie man on seeing them would have at once 
said : Injuns on the war-trail.” 

1 r did not need this sort of experience to tell they were 
returning from it. If there were no ponies or dogs around 
the'' encampment, there were other animals in abundance 
—horses, mules, and horned cattle. Horses and mules 
of American breed, and cattle whose ancestral stock had 
come from Tennessee or Kentucky along with the early 
colonists of Texas. 

And if there were no squaws or papooses, there were 
women and children — both white. A group of these could 
be seen near the center of the encampment. It did not 
need their disheveled hair to show they were captives; nor 
yet the half-dozen savages, spear-armed, standing sentry 
over them^ Their drooping heads and despairing faces 
were evidence sufficient of the sad situation. 

What were these captives, and who were their captors .? 
Two questions easily answered. In a general way, the 
picture explained itself. The first were the wives and chil- 
dren, with sisters and grown-up daughters among them, 

of Texan colonists, from a settlement near the frontier 

too near to protect itself from an Indian maraud. It was 
one pressed forward into the fertile tract of land lying 
among the Cross Timbers. And the marauders were a 
party of Comanches, with whom the reader has made some 
acquaintance, for they w'ere no other than the band of the 
Horned Lizard. 

The time is about six weeks subsequent to that tragical 


222 


RETURNING FROM A RAID, 


scene of the caravan capture already described, and judg- 
ing from the spectacle now before us, we may conclude 
that the Comanche chief has not spent the interval in 
idleness. At least two hundred miles lie between the 
northern part of the Staked Plain, where the caravan was 
destroyed, an4 the Cross Timbers. Yet twenty more to the 
scene of the despoiled settlement, whose spoils in horses, 
horned cattle, mules, and captives now make such an im- 
posing appearance in the Indian camp. 

Such quick work requires some explanation. It is a 
double ^roke, at variance with the customs and inclina- 
tion of the prairie freebooter, who, having acquired a 
booty, rarely attempts any other effort till its proceeds are 
all squandered. He is like the anaconda, that having 
gorged itself, lies torpid till the cravings of a new hunger 
once more arouse it to activity. 

This would have been the case with the Horned Lizard 
and his band but for a circumstance of a somewhat un- 
usual kind. The attack on the merchant caravan was not 
planned by himself, but a scheme of his secret ally — the 
military commandant of Albuquerque. The summons had 
come to him unexpectedly, and after he had planned his 
descent on the Texan settlement. But sanguinary as that 
act was, it had been brief, and left him time to carry out 
his original design, that had proved almost as tragical in 
its execution. Here and there a spear standing up, with 
a tuft of light-colored hair, blood-clotted, upon its blade, 
was evidence of this — quite as successful, too. The grand 


RETURNING FROM A RAID. 


223 


drove of horses, mules, and cattle — to say nothing of that 
group of wan, woe-struck captives — proved the spoil worth 
as much, or more, as that taken from the traders’ wagons. 

The Horned Lizard was jubilant, along with every war- 
rior of his band. In loss their late-made spoil had cost 
them little — only one or two of their number killed by 
the settlers in defending themselves. It made up for their 
severe sacrifice sustained in their attack upon the caravan. 
If the number of their tribe wa,s reduced, there were now 
the fewer to share with ; and what with the cotton goods 
of Lowell, the gaudy prints of Manchester, the stripes, 
stroudings, and scarlet cloths to bedeck and arr?y them, 
the hand-mirrors in. which to admire themselves, the horses 
to ride upon, the mules to carry their tents, and the cattle 
to eat, the white women to be their concubines, and the 
children their attendants — all these were fine prospects for 
a savage — sufficient to make him jubilant, almost delirious 
with joy. 

A new era had dawned upon the tribe of which the 
Horned Lizard was chief. Hitherto it had been a some- 
what starving community, its range lying amid sterile tracts 
on the upper tributaries of the Red River and Canadian. 
Now before it was a time of feasting and luxury, such as 
rarely occurs to a robber band, whether amid the forest- 
clad mountains of Italy, or on the treeless prairies of 
America. 

The Comanche chief was joyous and triumphant; so 
also his second in command, whose skin, with the paint 


224 


FROM A RAID. 


cleaned fron* ave shown him nearly white. He 

was, in truth —in early life taken captive by the 

Comanches, ince made familiar with the mys- 

teries of the tribe; now one of its warriors, cunning and 
cruel as the Horned Lizard himself. It was he who had 
first put the Comanche chief in communication with the 
ruffian Uraga. 

As the two stood together contemplating the group of 
captives, especially scanning the features of the younger 
women, the sensuous expression on their features was 
hideous to behold. It would have been a painful sight for 
father, brother, or husband. 

And there were fathers, brothers, and husbands near — 
almost within sight. An eye elevated six hundred feet 
above the plain would have seen them — that of the soar- 
ing eagle. 

There were birds above — not eagles, but vultures; for 
the foul buzzard frequently follows the redskin in his 
maraud. Their instinct tells them that his path will be 
stained with blood and strewed with carcasses. There was 
a flock of these birds hovering in the heavens above ; also 
another flock not far off, though too far to attract the 
attention of the Indians. Now and then between the two 
a straggler might have been seen passing, as if a courier 
carrying a dispatch. 

The vultures of the second flock were also hovering 
above an encampment ; but very different was the appear- 
ance of the personages composing it. They were all men 


RETURNING FROM A RAID. 


225 


— not a woman or child among them — bearded men, with 
white skins, and wearing the garb of civilization — not of 
the most select kind or cut, nor all in the exact dress of 
civilized life; for among them were many whose buck- 
skin hunting-shirts, fringed leggings, and moccasined feet 
showed equally the costume of the savage. Besides these 
there were men in blanket-coats of red, green, and blue — 
all sweat-stained and dust-tarnished, tilt the colors nearly 
corresponded. Others in frocks of blue-gray Kentucky 
jeans, or the good old copper-colored homespun. Still 
others in the sky-blue cottonades, product of the hand- 
mills of Attakafras. Boots and brogans of all kinds of 
leather, stained and unstained — even that tanned from the 
skin of the alligator. Hats of every shape, fashion, size, 
and material — straw, chip, Panama, wool, felt, and even 
the silk belltopper (bad imitation of beaver), all looking 
worst for wear. 

In one thing these personages were nearly all alike — 
their arms and equipment. All were belted, pouched, 
and powder-horned ; a bowie-knife, with a revolving pistol, 
in the belt, some with two, and each carrying a rifle in 
his hand. 

Besides this uniformity, there were still other resem- 
blances — at least among a portion of them. It was notice- 
able in their rifles, which were yagers of the army-branded 
pattern; still more apparent in the caparison of their 
horses, that carried cavalry saddles, their peaks and cantles 
mounted with brass. Among these there was a sort of 


226 RETURNING FROM A RAID, 

uncouth, half-military discipline, indicated by some slight 
deference shown to two or three of them, who appeared to 
be officers. They were, in fact, a troop, or, as among 
themselves styled, a company of “Texas Rangers.” 

Not all in the encampment were of this organization, 
only about half. The other half were the fathers, brothers, 
and husbands whom the Horned Lizard and his band had 
despoiled of their daughters, sisters, and wives. 

Like or unlike to one another, they were still more 
unlike to the crowd composing the encampment of the 
savages. The buzzards above seemed conscious of the 
distinction, and perhaps also understood its significance. 
These same birds might have seen a similar sight before — 
almost certain had they— and could tell what was likely to 
follow from such a close proximity of adverse colors and 
antagonistic forms. There may have been an electricity 
in the air, telling the birds of what was to come — in the 
same way as they are forewarned of a storm. 


A COUP. 


227 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

A COUP. 

have spoken of the party of Texans as forming an 
encampment This is not correct They were only bivou- 
acked. Not even a stoppage so ceremonial as this. They 
were but halted to breathe and water their horses, snatch- 
ing meanwhile a scrap from their haversacks. This last 
not leisurely. There were men among them that could 
not brook delay — men with hearts to whom every hour 
seemed a day, every lost minute torture. These were they 
whose homes had been rendered desolate. 

Their associates, the rangers, were almost equally impa- 
tient at detention. They had now struck the trail' of their 
life-long enemies, and not only the younger, but the oldest 
of them, like old hounds upon a deer-track, were to be 
held back by no leash until they had buried their bowies 
in blood. 

They knew whom they were in pursuit of — the Horned 
Lizard and his band.' Many of the rangers had an old 
score to settle with the Tenawa chief— a balance of bloody 
retaliations. They were in hopes that the time was at 
hand. 

‘‘They can’t be far off now, cap’n,” said a thin little old 


A COUP. 


tely clothed in buckskin, without tag or orna- 
ment, and who looked as if he had seen at least half a 
century upon the plains. “I kin tell by the sign thet 
they passed this hyar pint jest a hour arter sun-up. ” 

“You are sure of that. Cully?” asked the individual 
spoken to, who was the captain of the rangers. 

“Sure as ef I’d been hyar an’ seed ’em. This hottish 
spell o’ sun air boun’ to bring ’em to a halt, ’specially as 
they’re cummered wi’ the stock an’ keptyves ; an’ I reck’n 
I kin tell the ’dzact spot whar they’ll make stop. ” 

“Where?” 

“Pee-cawn crik. Thar they’ll git sweet water an’ shade. 
Sartint they’ll stop thar, an’ maybe stay a spell. The 
skunks won’t hev neery idee thet we’re arter them so fur 
from the settlements.” 

“If they’re up on the Pecan,” interrupted a third speaker, 
a tall, lathy individual in a blue blanket coat, badly faded, 
“and anywhere near its mouth, we can’t be more than five 
miles from them. I know this part of the country well. 
I passed through it along with the Santa Fe expedition.” 

“ Only five miles !” exclaimed another man, whose dress 
bespoke the planter of respectability, while his sad coun- 
tenance proclaimed him to be one of the bereaved. “Oh, 
gentlemen! Our horses are now rested. Why not ride 
forward and attack them at once?” 

“ We’d be durned foolish to do so,” replied the old man 
in buckskin. “Thet, Mr. Wilton, ’ud be jess the way to 
defeat all our plans an’ purpusses. They’d see us long 


A COUP. 


229 


afore we ked get sight o’ them, time enuff to toat off the 
bosses an’ cattle — leastwise, the weemen. ” 

“What’s your way. Cully?” asked one of the rangers. 

“Wait till the sun go down; then ’proach ’em. Thar 
boun’ to hev fires, an’ they’ll guide us right into thar 
camp. Ef it air in Pee-cawn bottom, as I’m sartint it air, 
we kin surroun’ ’em eesy. Thar’s bluffs aboth sides, an’ 
we kin divide inter two lots, one stealin’ roun’ an’ cornin’ 
from up the crik, whiles the tother ’tacks ’em from below. 
Thet way we’ll make sure o’ keepin’ ’em from runnin’ off 
the weemen; besides, it air the more likelier chance to 
count sculps. ” 

“What do you say, boys?” interrogated the ranger- 
captain, addressing himself more especially to the men 
composing his band. 

“Cully’s right,” was the response, spoken by a majority 
of voices. 

“Then we must stay here till night. If we go forward 
now, they may see us before we get within shooting dis- 
tance. Do you think, Cully, you can take up the trail at 
night, supposing it to be a dark one ?” 

“Pish !” retorted the guide, for Cully was acting in that 
capacity; “take up the trail? Yis, on the blackest night 
as iver shet down over a paraira. Durn me, I ked 
smell it !” 

There was no further discussion. Cully’s opinion was 
all-powerful, and determined their course of action. 

The halt, at first intended only to be temporary, was 


230 


A COUP, 


continued till the going down of the sun, despite expostu- 
lations and almost prayerful entreaties on the part of some 
of the men — the settlers who had left their desolated 
homes behind them, and who were burning with impa- 
tience once more to embrace the dear ones whose absence 
rendered them desolate. 

* * * ♦ ;)c ♦ 3(C 

Before another sun went down, even before it had fairly 
risen, they were one and all blessing the guide who had 
given the counsel contradictory to their own. It was as 
Cully had predicted. 

The Indian despoilers had made halt on Pecan Creek, 
and no longer fearing pursuit, tarried all night in their 
encampment. They had kindled large fires, and roasting 
upon them the fattest of the captured kine, spent the fore 
part of the night in a grand feast. Engrossed with their 
joys, they had neglected guard, and, in the midst of their 
savage festivities they were suddenly set upon from all 
sides, the sharp cracking of the rifle and the quick deto- 
nation of the revolver silencing their savage laughter and 
scattering them like chaff. 

After the first fusillade there was but little left of them. 
Those who were not instantly shot down escaped in the 
darkness, skulking off among the pecan trees. It was 
altogether an affair of fire-arms, and for once the bowie, 
the Texan's trusted weapon, had no part in the fray. 

The first rays of the sun shed their light upon a strange 
scene — a tableau sanguinary, and yet not altogether sad. 


A COUP. 


231 


On the contrary, it disclosed a sight that, but for the red 
surroundii^gs, might have seemed all of gladness. 

Fathers half frantic with joy embracing children they 
had never expected to see again; brothers clasping the 
hands of sisters supposed lost to them forever ; husbands, 
late broken-hearted, once more made happy by the restora- 
tion of their wives. 

This was the pleasant side of the picture. Close by was 
presented that of less cheerful aspect. Corpses strewed 
over the ground, still bleeding, scarce yet stark or still, 
all of coppery complexion, all Indians. Among them, 
recognized by Cully and others of the rangers, his ancient 
enemies, the body of the Horned Lizard. Only one cap- 
tive was taken alive, and he, because having a white skin, 
had done what was disdained by his red-skinned associates, 
begged for his life. 

A tableau at once terrible and pleasing — a contrast of 
passions and emotions such as may only be encountered 
on the far frontier of Texas. 


232 


THE FORCED CONFESSION. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE FORCED CONFESSION. 

On counting the corpses of their slain enemies, the 
Texans found that at least one-half of the Tewana band 
had fallen, including its chief. 

They could 'make an approximate estimate of the num- 
ber that had been opposed to them by the signs scattered 
around the camp, as also by the trail they had been for 
several days following. Those who escaped had got off, 
some on their horses, hastily caught and mounted, others 
afoot, by taking to the timber. 

They were not pursued, as it was still dark night when 
the action ended, and by daylight these wild centaurs, 
well acquainted with the country, would be scattered 
beyond all chance of being overtaken. 

The settlers were satisfied at having recovered their rela- 
tives, as well as their stolen stock, and for the rangers 
enough had been accomplished to slake their vengeful 
thirst, at least, for the time. 

These last had not come off unscathed, for the 
Comanches, well armed with guns, bows, and lances, 
had not died unresistingly. In Texas Indians rarely do, 
and Qever when they know that it is a fight with rangers. 


THE FORCED CONFESSION. 


233 


Between them and these frontier guerrillas, in one sense 
as much savages as themselves, it is an understood thing : 
war to the bitter end, and no quarter either asked or 
granted. 

The Texan loss was three of their number killed and 
about twice as many wounded ; enough, considering the 
advantage they had had in this unwarned attack upon an 
enemy for once unwatchful. 

When the conflict was ended, and sunrise had made man- 
ifest the result, the victors took possession of the spoils — 
most being their own property. The cattle and horses 
that had strayed or stampeded during the fight were again 
collected into a drove, those of the Indians being united 
to it. This done, only a short stay was intended, just 
long enough to bury the bodies of the three rangers who 
had been killed, get stretchers prepared for such of the 
wounded as were unable to sit in the saddle, and make 
their preparations for taking the back-track toward the 
settlements. 

They were not hastening their return through any appre- 
hension of a counter attack on the part of the Comanches. 
Fifty Texas Rangers — and there were this number in the 
party — have no fear on any part of the plains, so long as 
they are mounted on good horses, carrying rifles in their 
hands, bowie-knives and pistols in their belts, a sufficient 
supply of powaer lu men iiaon.o, m^d bullets in their 
pouches. With all these things they were amply provided, 
and had there been any necessity for continuing the pur- 


234 


THE FORCED CONFESSION. 


suit, or the prospect of striking another blow, they would 
have gone on, even though the chase should conduct them 
into the defiles of the Rocky Mountains. To pursue and 
slay the savage was their vocation, their duty. 

But the settlers were desirous of returning to their 
homes, that they might relieve the anxiety of other dear 
ones who there awaited them. Glad tidings they could 
carry. 

While the preparations for departure were going on. 
Cully, who, with several other rangers, was collecting the 
weapons and accouterments found upon their slain en- 
emies, gave utterance to a peculiar cry that brought a 
crowd of his comrades around him. 

“What is it, Nat.?” inquired the ranger-captain. 

“Look hyar, cap— de’ye see this gun .?” 

“Yes ; a hunter's rifle. Whose is it?” 

“That’s jess the queshin, though thar arn’t no queshin 
about it. Boys, do any o’ ye recognize this hyar shootin’- 
iron?” 

One after the other the rangers stepped up and looked 
at the rifle. 

“I do,” said one. 

“And I,” added another, and a third and fourth, all 
making the affirmation in a-tone of surprise. 

“ Walt Wilder s gun!” continued Cully, “ sure an sartin. 
I know it, an’ shed know it. See them two letters on the 
stock thar, ‘W. W.’ Old Nat Cully hez good reesuns to 
recognize them, since ’twar hisself that cut ’em. I did it 


THE FORCED CONFESSION. 


235 


for Walt two years ago, when we war scoutin* on the Colly- 
rado. It’sv his weepun, an^ no mistake. ” 

‘‘Where did you get it?” inquired the captain. 

“IVe jess tuk it out o’ the claws o’ the ugliest Injun as 
iver made trail on the puraira; that beauty thar, whose 
karkidge the buzzards won’t be likely to tech. ” 

As he spoke, Cully pointed to a corpse. It was that of 
the Tenawa chief, Horned Lizard, already recognized 
among the slain. 

“He must a hed it in his clutch when suddenly shot 
down,” Cully went on. “An’ whar did he get it? Boys, 
our ole kummarade’s wiped out for sartin. I know how 
Walt loved that thar weepun. He wouldn’t a parted wi’ it 
unless ’long wi’ his life.” 

This was the conviction of several others, who knew 
Walt Wilder. It was the company to which he had for- 
merly belonged. 

“Thar’s been foul play somewhar,” pursued Cully. 
“Walt went back to the States, to Kaintuck, ef this chile 
arn’t mistook. But tain’t likely he staid thar. He kedn’t 
keep long olf o’ the purairas. I tell ye, boys, these hyar 
Injuns hev been makin’ mischief somewhar. Look thar; 
look at thar leggins. Thar’s no eend o’ white sculps, an’ 
fresh ’uns, too.” 

The eyes of all were turned toward these terrible trophies 
that in gory garniture fringed the buckskin leg-wear of the 
savages. Cully, with several others who had known Wilder 
well, proceeded to examine them, in full expectation that 


236 


THE FORCED CONFESSION. 


they would find among them the skin of their old com- 
rade’s head. 

There were seven scalps of white men, among many that 
were of Indians, and not a few that exhibited the equally 
black but shorter crop of the Mexican. Those that were 
indubitably of white men showed the evidence of having 
been recently taken, but none could be identified as that 
of Walt Wilder. 

There was some relief in this, for his old comrades loved 
Walt. Still there was his gun, which Cully declared could 
only be taken from him along with his life. How had it 
come into the hands of the Horned Lizard ? 

“I reckon we can settle that,” said the captain of the 
rangers. ‘‘The renegade ought to know something 
about it.” 

This speech referred to the Mexican who had been 
taken prisoner, and about whose disposal they had already 
commenced holding council. Some were for shooting 
him on the spot ; others proposed hanging, while only a 
few of the more humane advocated taking him on to the 
settlements and there giving him a trial. He would have 
to die anyhow, that was pretty sure, for, not only as a 
Mexican was he their enemy, but now doubly so from 
being found in league with their more savage foeman, the 
Comanches. 

The wretch was lying on the ground close by, trembling 
with fear, in spite of the fastenings in which he was tightly 
held. He knew he was in danger, and had only so far 


^THE FORCED CONFESSION. 


237 


escaped from having surrendered to a settler instead of to 
one of the rangers. 

“ Let’s gie him a chance o’ his life ef he’ll tell all about 
it,” counseled Cully. “What d’ye say, cap.?” 

“I agree to that,” answered the captain. “He don’t 
appear to be worth shooting, though it may be as well to 
take him to the settlements and shut him up in a prison. 
The promise of his life may get out of him all he knows. 
If not, the other will. He’s not an Indian, and a bit of 
rope hooked round his neck will no doubt loosen his 
tongue. Suppose we try it, boys?” 

The “boys” were unanimous in their assent, and the 
renegade was at once brought up for examination. The 
man in the green blanket coat, who, as a Santa Fe expe- 
ditioner, had spent over twelve months in Mexican prisons, 
was appointed the examiner. He had been long enough 
among the Mexicans to learn their language. 

The renegade was for a time reticent, and his state- 
ments contradicting. No wonder he hesitated to tell what 
he knew, so compromising to himself. But when the 
lariat was at length noosed around his neck, the loose end 
of it thrown ovei the limb of a pecan tree — the other con- 
ditions being at the same time made known to him — he 
saw that things could be no worse; and, seeing this, he 
made- confession, full, if not free. 

Everything was disclosed that had occurred — the attack 
and capture of the caravan, the slaughter of the white 
men who accompanied it, and the retreat of two of them 


238 


THE FORCED CONFESSION. 


to the cliff, one of whom, by the description, could be no 
other than Walt Wilder. 

When the renegade came to describe the horrible mode 
in which their old comrade had perished, the rangers were 
almost frenzied with rage, and it was with difficulty some 
of them could be withheld from forswearing their promise 
and tearing the wretch to pieces. 

He declared, however, he had taken no part in the cruel 
transaction, that none of his acts were voluntary, that 
although they had found him among the Indians, he was 
there only as their prisoner, and that they had forced him 
along with them. 

This was evidently untrue ; but, false or true, it had the 
effect of pacifying his judges so that the lariat remained 
loose upon his neck. 

Further examination and cross-examination elicited 
everything except the strange alliance between the Mex- 
ican military and the despoilers of the caravan. Not 
thinking of this, how could they, his examiners, put any 
question about it; and the wretch, therefore, saw no 
reason to declare it. He might have had a hope of one 
day returning to the Del Norte and holding communica- 
tion with Colonel Uraga. 

“Boys,” said the ranger-captain to his men, as soon as 
the examination was over, “you all loved Walt Wilder — 
all of you that knew him ?” 

“We did — we did !” was the response, feelingly spoken. 

“ So did I. Well, he’s dead beyond a doubt. It’s more 


THE FORCED CONFESSION. 


.han a month ago, and he couldn’t last that long shut up 
in a cave. His bones will be with those of the poor 
fellow, whoever he was, that went in along with him. It’s 
dreadful to think of them tombed in that way. Now, 
from what the Mexican says, it can’t be so very far from 
here, and as we can make him guide us to the place, I 
propose to go there, get out the bones of our old comrade, 
and give them burial.” 

With the Texan Rangers obedience to duty is less a 
thing of command than request ; and this was a request 
that received an instant and unanimous assent. 

“Let us go !” was the cry that came from all sides. 

“We needn’t all make this journey,” continued the 
captain. “There’s no need for any more than our boys, 
the rangers, and such of the settlers as may choose to go 
with us. The rest, who have got to take car of the 
women, and some for driving the stock, can make their 
way back to the Cross Timbers at once. We’ve left the 
track pretty clear of Indians, and they will be in no 
danger. ’’ 

Without further discussion this arrangement was agreed 
upon, and the two parties commenced making the prepa- 
rations suitable to their respective plans. 

In less than two hours after they had separated — the 
settlers, with their women, children, and cattle, wending 
their way eastward, while the rangers, guided by the ren- 
egade, rode off in the opposite direction. 


HE MARCH. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

SOLDIERS ON THE MARCH. 

* ‘ What do you think they are V* 

‘‘Sogers, for sartint. I kin see the glint o’ ther buttons 
an’ ’couterments. ” 

“But what could soldiers be doing out here.? There 
are no Indians upon the Staked Plain. Besides, if there 
were, such a small troop as that — considering they are 
Mexicans — would not be likely to venture out here after 
them. ” 

“It mout be only a advance gurd, an’ thar’s a bigger 
body o’ them behind. We’ll soon see. Anyways, we 
mustn’t let ’em spy us, till we know what sort o’ varmints 
they air. Yis, sogers they be— a troop o’ Mexikin cavalry. 
Thar’s no mistakin’ them ragamuffins. They’re lanzeers, 
too. I kin make out thar long spears, stickin’ up over 
thar heads, an’ the bits o’ ribbon streamin’ out behind. 
Pull yur mule well back among the bushes. The direc- 
shun they’re follerin’ might fetch ’em dost to hyar. ’Twon’t 
do to let ’em git sight o’ us. Mexikins though they be, 
thar mout be danger in ’em. ’Tall events, it’s best to 
hev the advantage o’ fust knowin’ who they air, an’ what 
they’re arter.” 


SOLDIERS ON THE MARCH. 


241 


This brief dialogue occurred between two men standing 
beside two mules, from which they had just dismounted. 
They were Frank Hamersley and Walt Wilder. 

The place was by the edge of a clump of stunted 
“black-jacks.” It was about fifteen miles west from the 
valley of the Lone Ranch, from which they had ridden 
that morning. They were on their way to the settlements 
cf the Rio Del Norte, for the purpose already declared by 
the young prairie-merchant. 

The hour was midday, and they had stopped for their 
noon halt under the shade of the dwarf but umbrageous 
oaks, where they were enjoying the food their late host 
had provided for their journey. 

While thus agreeably engaged, Walt’s eyes, ever on the 
watch, had detected a suspicious sign, that aj)peared in a 
due westerly direction. At first it seemed only a cloud 
of dust, not bigger than a blanket. Gradually, however, 
it became more extended, and soared higher above the 
plain. 

As the two men stood guessing as to its nature, shading 
their eyes from the sun overhead, all at once its true 
character became disclosed to them. A puff of wind 
coming down from the north caused the soaring cloud for 
a moment to sway sideways, showing underneath a body 
of mounted men. It was then that Walt Wilder saw the 
“glint” of accouterments that led him to pronounce it a 
party of ‘ ‘ sogers. ” 

That they were Mexican soldiers was easily detected. 


242 


SOLDIERS ON THE MARCH. 


There could be no other in that part of the country. It is 
true a band of Texan cavalry had once crossed the plains, 
at a point not very distant from where they were — the ill- 
starred Santa Fe Expedition" — though few of these wore 
anything like a soldier’s uniform ; besides, they did not 
carry weapons such as Walt now saw. The advancing 
party was evidently a troop of Mexican lancers, and could 
be nothing else. 

If there had been any doubt about it, it was soon set at 
rest. As the hunter had observed, they were approaching 
in a direction to bring them close to the clump of oaks ; 
and in less than half an hour after, they were nearly oppo- 
site it, the dust-cloud still shrouding and partialy conceal- 
ing them from view. 

Still there, was no difficulty in making out the character 
of the individual forms composing it. It was a small party 
of between twenty and thirty files, marching in fours. 
They were regular Mexican lancers, carrying their lances 
sloped, with the pennons dragging along the shafts, for 
there was not a breath of air to float them. Their yellow 
cloaks could be seen, folded and strapped over the croups 
behind them. Their horses were of the small Mexican 
mustang kind; but one that headed the troop, ridden by 
an officer, in all likelihood the leader, was a large animal, 
evidently a horse of American breed. 

Upon this horse the eyes of Walt Wilder became fixed 
as soon as the animal was near enough to attract special 
observation. 


SOLDIERS ON THE MARCH. 


243 


A half-surprised, half-interrogative expression passed over 
his features as he gazed through the obscuring dust. Sud- 
denly it became changed to one of certainty, while a loud 
exclamation leaped from his lips. 

“ Great Heaven ! Frank, look thar !” 

‘‘What is it, Walt?” 

“Don’t ye see nothin’?” 

“Nothing more than what I see — a troop of Mexican 
lancers, mounted upon mustangs.” 

“Mustangs ! That’s no mustang, that ere critter at the 
head o’ the line. Amerikin boss he is— yur boss, Frank 
Hamersley !” 

It was Hamersley ’s turn to be astonished. Sure enough 
the horse ridden at the head of the troop was the same he 
had been compelled to abandon at the base of the cliff in 
their escape from the pursuing savages. 

A flood of light flashed into the minds of the two men 
couching within the shadow of the black dwarf oaks. At 
once they recalled the suspicious circumstance observed by 
them in the fight — the bearded men among the Indians — 
and at the same time remembered what their late host had 
told them in relation to the ruffian Uraga. 

Was it he who was leading the troop? Who else could 
it be? 

They could see that the man who rode the large horse 
was tall and bearded, just as Hamersley knew Uraga to 
be,' and just like the Indian whom Walt had suspected of 
being a counterfeit. Everything seemed to confirm the 


244 


SOLDIERS ON THE MARCH. 


conjectures they had dwelt upon. And now rushed other 
conjectures across the brain of both, with apprehensions 
that were almost agonizing. What was the purpose of 
this military expedition } Whither was it bound ? As 
they saw it filing before their eyes, these questions were 
too easily answered. It was heading direct for the valley 
from which they had themselves come, and going as if 
guided I 

“Yes,” said Walt; “thar goin' straight for the valley, 
an’ the Lone Ranch, too. Thar’s no guess-work in that 
sort o’ travelin’. Thar’s a guide along wi’ ’em, an’ thar’s 
been a treeter.” 

“Who could it be?” 

“Who? Why, who but the Injun Manooel, as went 
off ’bout a week ago to fetch thar things. Durnashun ! 
yonner’s the skunk hisself. Don’t you see that thing ridin’ 
on a mule, near the head o’ the line?” 

Hamersley looked; and there, sure enough, was the 
figure of a man on muleback, differently dressed from the 
troopers. The dress was such as he had seen worn by 
the domestics of Miranda ; and although the distance was 
too great for his features to be recognized^ the dark com- 
plexion, with other distinctive points which the young 
Kentuckian remembered, left no doubt of his being the 
peon Manuel. 

No further explanation was needed now. All was too 
painfully clear. 

The peon had turned traitor, and disclosed the secret 


SOLDIERS ON THE MARCH. 


245 

of Colonel Miranda’s place of exile. He was guiding the 
enemy direct to it. 

Nor was there any required to conjecture what would 
be the result. Don Valerian was in danger, not only 
of his liberty, but his life. And along with him the 
doctor. 

But it was not of either Frank Hamersley or Walt 
Wilder were at that moment thinking. 

Close conjoined with their fate was that of others far 
dearer to them ; and to the fate of these were their appre- 
hensions turned, absorbing every thought. 

Hamersley breathed hard as the dark shadow swept over 
his soul, and spoke excitedly, though his voice was husky, 
like that of a man in the act of being strangled. He 
gasped out : 

“They’re going straight for the Lone Ranch. Adela! 
Oh, Heaven!” 

“Yes, they’re boun’ for thar,” said Walt, in calmer 
voice, but speaking in a tone equally anxious and de- 
sponding. “That’s thar errand out hyar for sartint. Then 
as polerticul refergees, an’ ef the varmint at thar head be 
him as I’ve been told about, the Lord have mercy on 
M’rander! Poor young feller! he’m the noblest species 
o’ Mexikin I ever see, an’ deserves a better fate. Hang 
or shoot him they’ll be sure. Thet’s Amijo’s way, when- 
somdever he or Sandy Andy’s in the ’scendent. As for the 
poor ole doc, he may git off by sarvin’ a spell in prison ; 
but the gurls ” 


246 


SOLDIERS ON THE MARCH. 


Hamersley’s groan interrupted the speech, his comrade 
seeing that it pained him. 

“ Wal, we won’t speak o’ them now. One thing, they 
ain’t agoin’ to be rubbed out like the men. From what 
the saynerita’s brother sayed, thar’s a reezun for treetin 
her different ; ah’ ef thar’s to be no longer a brother to 
purtect her, I reck’n she’s got a friend in you, Frank, an’ 
hyar’s another. ” 

Walt’s words sounded hopefully. Hamersley felt it, but 
said nothing. His thoughts were too sad for speech. He 
only pressed the hand of his comrade, in a silent grasp of 
gratitude. 

“Yes,” continued the ex-ranger, with increased em- 
phasis; “I’d lay down my life to save that young lady 
from harm, an’ I know you’d lay down yourn ; an’ that air 
to say nothin’ o’ Concheeter. As for yur gurl, Frank, I 
don’t wonder your heart beats like a chased rabbit, for 
myen air doin’ the same. Wal, never fear. If thar’s a 
hair o’ eyther o’ thar heads harmed, you’ll hear the crack 
o’ this child’s rifle, an’ see its bullet go into the breast o’ 
him as harms ’em, I don’t care who or what he air, or 
whar he be. Nor I don’t care a darn, not the valley o’ 
a dried buffler-chip, what may come arter — bangin’, gar- 
rotin’, or shootin’. At all risk, them creeturs air boun’ to 
be purtected, or revenged. I swar it by the Etarnal !” 

“I join you in the oath !” groaned Hamersley, in in- 
creased fervor, once more exchanging a hand-squeeze with 
his comrade. “Yes, Walt, the brave Miranda may be 


SOLDIERS ON THE MARCH. 


247 


sacrificed — I fear it will be so — but for his sister, there is 
still a hope of her being saved ; and surely Heaven will 
help us. If not, I shall be ready to die. To me death 
would be easier to bear than the loss of Adela. ” 

“An' wi’ this child the same, for Concheeterl" 


248 


A HALT, 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A HALT. 

Frank Hamersley and the hunter-guide had truly divined 
the object of the military expedition, and who was its 
leader. 

It was Uraga who was riding across the plain with a 
picked party of his lancers ; their destination the valley of 
the Lone Ranch ; and their purpose, to make prisoners of 
Miranda and all who might be found sharing the solitude 
with him. 

The information given by the peon Manuel had been 
acted upon immediately, the expedition having started 
from Albuquerque before sunrise on the following day, and 
the traitor was now with it, acting as guide. 

Uraga had brought only a small troop of his lancers — 
Lieutenant Roblez, his adjutant, in immediate command 
of them. The colonel commandant did not deem it neces- 
sary to make show of a larger force. Any Indians that 
might be encountered in that section of the country would 
be the Apaches, and of these he had no fear. About one 
hundred men in all filed after him— enough to make fast 
prisoners of four persons. 

“I don’t think we need fear any resistance,” he remarked 


A HALT. 


249 


to his subordinate, as the double-peaked hilb loomed up 
over the level of the plain, and the guide informed them 
that the valley lay just beyond it. 

“No,” rejoined the adjutant. “If there should be, 
what then ?” 

“Then we make clean work of it. No quarter to any 
of the men. Cut them down ; lance the life out of them.” 

“The old doctor, too.?” 

“Him as the rest. We want no survivors — at least of 
the male kind — to tell tales afterward. I only wish they 
would show fight. As you know, Roblez, there are reasons 
why they should be silenced. Tm sorry Fve brought this 
horse with me. I didn’t think of it. They’ll be sure to 
remember him. Still, that can be explained by our saying 
that he was brought into the settlements, and I became his 
owner by purchase.” 

“If you have any doubts that way, colonel, why not act 
as if they had resisted us?” 

“It would be dangerous. Remember, adjutant, we’re 
not now acting with the Horned Lizard and his painted 
freebooters. Our fellows here have eyes in their heads and 
tongues between their teeth. A tale might get out that 
would bring us into disgrace with the government, and it 
into trouble with the Americans. No, no ; we must not 
make fools of ourselves by such naked work as that. We 
make prisoners of them, if they give us no other pretext. 
After that, I’ve thought of a way of disposing of them. 
The Horned Lizard will help me, and I have now a mes- 


250 


A HALT. 


senger on the way to him. As regards Don Valerian 
Miranda, he’s safe enough. His affair can be arranged by 
a court-martial, that will act promptly, but withal, per- 
fectly legal. Besides, there is a reason why I may not want 
him executed right off. I may yet save his life, if he will 
do something to deserve it.” 

“Ho, ensign !” he added, calling to the youngest com- 
missioned officer of the troop; “that Indian Manuel, send 
the brute to the front here.” 

Manuel, who was riding in the rear, on being told that 
he was wanted, spurred his mule forward, and placed him- 
self by the side of the colonel. 

In the countenance of the Indian there was an expres- 
sion of conscious guilt, such as may be seen in one not 
hardened by habitual crime. Now that he was drawing 
nigh the scene where those betrayed by him would suffer, 
he had more than once indulged in a train of reflections, 
tinged with regret for what he had done. Don Valerian 
had been a kind master to him, and the Donna Adela an 
unexceptionable mistress. He was bringing ruin to both. 

Then would spring up thoughts of Conchita and her 
colossal sweetheart — now, as he knew, her betrothed hus- 
band ; and the memory of that episode in the shadowy 
grove coming fresh before his mind, would again fire his 
soul with black jealousy, and sweep out of it every thought 
of regret or repentance. Even had these triumphed, it 
was too late. From the moment of his having parted with 
the information, he had lost the control of his secret ; and 


A HALT. 


251 


he to whom it had been communicated did not treat him 
with the slightest regard. The traitor was no longer acting 
as a voluntary guide. He performed his office with a sword 
pointed to his breast, or a pistol aimed at his head. 

“ Sirrah said the colonel, as he came up, “are those 
the two peaks of which you spoke ?” 

“The same, your excellency.” 

“And you say that the path leads between them?” 

“Right down into the valley.” 

“You are sure there is no other?” 

“No other that comes up to the plain here. Beyond 
where the Lone Ranch is, at the farthest end of the valley, 
as I ve told your excellency, the stream runs out. It is 
through a canon, between very high cliffs It goes on to 
the plains below; but it is a long way, and crooked.” 

“Could horses travel by it?” 

“Surely they could. When I was out through it once 
with Don Valerian, we were both of us mounted on 
mules. But horses could go, too ; though it's full of rocks, 
and not easy for animals to make way.” 

‘ ‘ Can the canon be reached from the plain above ? 

“No, your excellency; not anywhere. On either side 
the cliffs are hundreds of feet high above the water, and 
there's no slope to get down by. The only way one could 
travel it is by entering from the outside plain, and coming 
up or through the valley, and going down. That would 
be two days' journey, maybe more, your excellency. 


252 


A HALT. 


‘‘Enough!” said Uraga, apparently satisfied, and yet 
with a dissatisfied air. “ Go back to your place, sirrah 1 

The peon, making obeisance by raising the straw hat 
from his head, again fell into the rear of the troop. 

“ There’s a question, Roblez,” said the colonel, “what 
we had best do here. If we go down into this hole in 
broad daylight, we may have our long ride for nothing, 
and find it empty for our pains. From what Manuel has 
told me, the house can be seen from the defile through 
which we have to pass, and therefore the defile from the 
house and ourselves making the descent. ” 

“That will never do, colonel.” 

“ Certainly not. Since it appears there are two doors 
to this trap, the birds may escape out of one while we are 
closing the other. I know the sort of canon the peon 
speaks of. It’s a very common kind on the edge of the 
Staked Plain. He says it can’t be entered except from the 
plain below, or through the valley itself. I’ve no doubt 
he is right ; and, therefore, what’s to be done ? Can you 
suggest anything, Roblez ?” 

‘ ‘ Could we not gallop forward and surround the ranch 
before they can get out?” 

“Nothing of the kind. Down the defile there can be 
no galloping, from what the Indian has told me. On the 
contrary, it will be just as much as our horses can do to 
crawl down it. To cut olf their chances of escape below 
would be the way to make sure of them. But it would 
take time — several days at the least. ” 


A HALT, 


253 


think there’s no need of that delay,” said the adju- 
tant, reflectingly. “We may avoid it by not entering the 
valley till after the sun has gone down. Then we can ride 
on to the Lone Ranch, and surround it in the darkness. 
As they are not likely to be expecting such distinguished 
guests, there can be no difficulty in surprising them. Let 
it be after midnight, when they will all be asleep, and the 
fair Adela no doubt dreaming of some one. Poor thing ! 
she must have had a lonely six months of it amid these 
solitary scenes. ” 

“ Halt !” commanded the colonel, a dark cloud crossing 
his countenance, as if the words of his subordinate stirred 
up some unpleasant memory. “We shall do as you sug- 
gest, Roblez. Let the men dismount, ensign,” he added. 
“Keep the horses under the saddle, and be ready to move 
forward at a moment’s notice. See that the Indian guide 
is closely watched, and you may as well put manacles 
upon him ” 

After issuing these orders, Uraga himself dismounted, 
gave his horse to a trooper to hold, and then, along with 
his adjutant, Roblez, walked off to some distance from 
the troop, so that the two could perfect their plan without 
danger of their villainous ideas becoming exposed to the 
cognizance of their comrades. 


254 


STALKING THE STALKERS, 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

STALKING THE STALKERS. 

The spot upon which the lancer-troop had halted was 
within view of the grove that gave concealment to the two 
Americans. Five miles lay between, in the clear atmos- 
phere of the table-plain, looking less than three. The 
individual forms of soldiers could be distinguished, and 
the two men who had seated themselves apart. The taller 
of them was even identified as the commanding officer of 
the troop. 

“If they’d only keep thar places till arter sundown,” 
muttered the hunter, “I ked settle the hul thing. This 
hyar gun, the doc has presented me, wi’ 'bout as good a 
shootin’-iron as Fd care to streetch my claws on, an’ most 
equal to my own ole rifle. I’ve gin her all sorts o’ a trial, 
down thar in the valley, an’ know she’s good for plum 
center at a hundred and fifty paces. Ef yonner skunks as 
air squattin’ out from the rest ’ud but jest stay thar till the 
shades o’ night ’ud gie me a chance o’ stealin’ up, thar’s 
one o’ ’em ’ud never see daylight agin.” 

“Oh,” exclaimed Hamersley, with a sigh of despair, 
and yet half hopeful, “if they would but remain there till 
night, we might still head them into the valley and give 
warning. ” 


STALKING THE STALKERS. 


255 


“Don’t you have any sech hopes, Frank; thar’s no 
chance o’ that. I kin see what they’re arter by makin’ 
stop. They’ve made up thar mind not to ’temp goin’ 
inter the valley till they kin git a trifle o’ shadder aroun’ 
them. They think that if they’re seen afore they git up to 
the Lone Ranch, the poor critters might escape ’em ; an’ 
therefore they purpiss approachin’ the shanty unobserved 
by makin’ a surround o’ it. That’s thar game. Cunnin’ 
o’ them, too, for Mexicans.” 

“ Yes, that is what they intend doing, no doubt of it. 
Oh, Heaven ! only to think we are so near, and yet cannot 
give them a word — a sign of warning !” 

“ Can’t be helped. We must put our trust in Him that 
has an eye on all o’ us — same over the desert, purairas, an’ 
mountains as the people that air livin’ in large cities. 
Sartin, we must trust in Him, an’ let things slide a bit, 
jest as He may direct ’em. To go out from our kiver now 
’ud be the same as steppin’ inter the heart o’ a puraira fire. 
Them fellers air mounted on swift horses, an’ ’ud ketch up 
wi’ these slow critters o’ mules in the shakin’ o’ a prong- 
horn’s tail. Thurfore, let’s lie by till night. ’Tain’t fur 
off now, an’ ef we see any chance to git down inter the 
valley, we'll take advantage o’ it.” 

Walt’s companion could make no objection to the plan 
proposed. There was no alternative but to accede to it, 
and the two remained watching the movements of the 
troop, now stationary upon the plain. 

For several hours were they thus occupied, when the 


256 


STALKING THE STALKERS, 


sun began to throw elongated shadows on the surface of 
the ground. It still wanted an hour of its setting, when 
they saw the Mexicans again mount their horses and move 
onward. 

“ I told you so,” said Walt ; “ thar’s still all o’ ten miles 
atween them an’ the valley, an’ they’ve mezyured the time 
it’ll take ’em to git thur— an hour or so arter sundown. 
Thar ain’t the shadder o’ a chance for us to creep ahead o’ 
’em. We must keep the kiver till they’re clur out o’ 
sight.” 

And they did keep the cover until the receding horse- 
men — for a long time presenting the appearance of giants 
under the magnifying mirage — gradually became shrunken 
to their natural dimensions in the cool air of the evening, 
at length fading from view under the purple gleaming of 
the twilight. 

Not another moment did Hamersley and the hunter 
stay within the sheltering grove, but, springing into their 
saddles, pushed on after. 

Night soon descending, with scarce ten minutes of 
twilight, covered the Staked Plain with an opaque obscur- 
ity, as if a shroud had been thrown over it. 

There was no moon — not even stars in the sky ; and the 
twin peaks that formed the portals of the valley-path were 
no longer discernable. 

But Walt Wilder required neither moon, nor stars, nor 
mountain peaks to guide him for such a short traverse. 
Taking his bearings before starting from the grove, he 


STALKING THE STALKERS. 


2S7 


rode on in a course straight as the direction of a bullet 
from his own rifle, until the twin peaks came into view, 
darkly outlined against the leaden sky. 

“We mustn’t go any furrer, Frank,” he said, suddenly 
pulling up his mule; “leastways, not astraddle o’ these 
hyar conspikerous critters. Whether them sogers hev 
goed down into the valley or no, they’re sartin to hev left 
some o’ the crowd ahint, by way o’ keeping century. 
Let’s picket the anymals out hyar, an’ creep forrard afut. 
Thet’ll gie us a chance o’ seein’ ’ithout bein’ seen.” 

The mules were disposed of as Walt had suggested, 
and the dismounted men continued their advance. First 
walking erect, then in a bent attitude, then crouching still 
lower, then as quadrupeds upon all fours, and at length 
crawling like reptiles, they made their approach toward the 
defile leading down to the valley. 

They did not enter it. They dared not. Before getting 
within the gape of its gloomy portals, they heard voices 
issuing therefrom. 

They could see tiny sparks of fire — the red coal glowing 
upon ignited cigars. They could tell that there were sen- 
tries left there, a line of them stretching across the ravine, 
guarding it from side to side. 

“It ain’t no use tryin’, Frank,” whispered Wilder; 
‘ ‘ ne’er a chance o’ our gettin’ through. They’re stan’in’ 
thick all over the groun’. I kin tell by thar cigars an’ 
palaverin’. A black snake kedn’t make way among 'em 
'ithout bein' seen.” • 


258 


STALKING THE STALKERS. 


“Then what are we to do?” asked Hamersley, in a 
despairing whisper. 

“We kin do nothin' now, 'ceptin' go back an' get our 
mules. We must move 'em out o' the way afore sun-up. 
'Tain't no manner o' use our squattin' hyar. I kin' tell 
what's been done. The main body's goed below. Then 
thar's surely some they've left to the gap. I guess it's all 
over wi' the poor critters in the ranch, or will be afore we 
ked do anythin' to help 'em. Ef they ain't kilt, they’re 
captured by this time. ’’ 

Hamersley could scarce hinder himself from uttering an 
audible groan. Only the dread danger restrained him. 

“ I say agin, Frank, 'tair no use our stayin' hyar. Any- 
thin' we ked do must be did elsewhur. Let’s go back for 
our mules, fetch 'em away, an' see ef we kin climb one o' 
these hyar mounds. Thar’s a good shirkin' o' kiver on 
the top o’ 'em. Ef the anymals can’t git up, we kin leeve 
them in some ruvine an' go to the top ourselves. Thar we 
kin see all that passes. The skunks '11 be sartin to kum 
■ past in the mornin', bringin’ thar prisoners. We’ll see 
who’s along wi’ ’em, an’ kin foller thar trail. ” 

^ ‘ I’m ready to do as you direct, Walt. I feel as if I had 
lost all hope.” 

“That be durned. Thar’s allers a hope while thar’s a 
bit o’ breath in the body. Keep up heart, man. Think 
o’ how we war 'mong them wagguns. That ought to 
strenthin' yur gizzern. Never say die till yur dead. Thet 
air the doctryne o’ Walt Wilder.” 


STALKING THE STALKERS, 259 

As if to give an illustrative proof of it, Walt caught hold 
of his despairing comrade by the sleeve, and turned him 
round, and urged him back to the place where they had 
parted from the mules. 

The animals were released from their pickets and led 
silently and in a circuitous direction toward the base of 
one of the hills. Its sides appeared to be steep for even a 
mule to scale them, but a bowlder-strewed ravine offered a 
place for their concealment. 

There they were left, their lariats affording sufficient 
length to make them fast to the rocks, while the usual 
precautions were adopted to preveht them from whin- 
n eying. 

Having thus disposed of them, the two men kept on up 
the ravine, reached the summit, and sat down among the 
cedar-scrub that crowned it, determined to remain there 
till the morning sun should declare the ‘‘development of 
events.” 


26 o 


THE SONG INTERRUPTED, 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE SONG INTERRUPTED. 

'‘Come, Adela; the doctor and I have been comparing 
notes, and have come to the conclusion that we’re both a 
little out of sorts. Take your guitar, sister, and see if a 
song wouldn’t cheer us.” 

“It’s true what Don Valerian says. Your sweet voice 
will no doubt be of great service, and do much to cure the 
malady from which we are both suffering. ” 

“What malady, dear doctor?” asked the young lady, 
looking at Don Prospero with some surprise. 

“One of which you, senorita — fortunately for yourself 
— are not subject. Don’t you see that neither of us is 
smoking? We haven’t had a cigaritto in our mouths 
during the whole of this day. ” 

“ I have noticed that. But why, Don Prospero? — why, 
Valerian ?” 

“ For the best of all reasons, sister — we haven’t got such 
a thing. There isn’t a cigaritto within twenty miles of 
where we sit — unless our late guests have made a very short 
day’s journey. I gave the great Texan the last pinch of 
tobacco I had to cheer him on the way. ” 

“Yes, senorita,” added the doctor ; “and something as 


THE SONG INTERRUPTED. 


261 


bad, if not worse. Our worthy friends, the Americans, 
have helped us in reducing our stock of wine. I believe 
it’s about as low as the tobacco ; so you see we stand in 
need of arsong to cheer us. Fortunately, your sweet voice 
is left. Neither of the strangers has been able to deprive 
us of that. ” 

A smile, and a significant twinkle in Don Prosperous 
eye, told that his last words had something of a double 
meaning. 

“Oh,” replied the senorita; “a song. Half a dozen, 
at your service.” 

And she turned toward her guitar, having hastily sprang 
up from her seat to conceal the slight blush which the 
doctor’s speech had summoned into her cheeks. 

“About the wine,” said Miranda, “it’s not quite so 
bad as you make it out, doctor, although the throat of 
the ranger appeared as difficult to saturate as the most 
parched spot upon the Staked Plain. However, there s 
still left to us a flask or two of the grape-juice— enough, 
I think, to keep us alive till Manuel makes his return with 
our monthly supplies. What can be delaying the rascal? 
He’s had time to have been to Soccorro, done all his 
marketing, and got back three days ago. I hoped to see 
him here before our guests left, so that I could have better 
provisioned them for their journey. As it is, they run a 
fair risk of being famished. I did what I could to get 
them to wait for him, but Don Francisco would not. The 
noble fellow is in a sad state of mind about his murdered 


262 


THE SONG INTERRUPTED, 


companions, and no wonder. He says he cannot rest till 
he obtains satisfaction. I fear he will not find it where 
he has gone to seek it, but only get himself into a new 
danger. Ah I it is sad — horrible — to reflect on such a state 
of affairs.” 

The reflection was evidently the same with Adela. As 
she sat listening to what her brother said, her eyes glowing 
with a somber solicitude, the guitar escaped from her 
hands and dropped to the floor, by the concussion break- 
ing one of its strings. 

It looked like an omen of evil, and a quick glance pass- 
ing between them told that all three so regarded it. 

Don Prospero hastened to pick up the guitar, and with 
a gallant speech to the senorita, commenced re-uniting the 
snapped string. As if to chase the unpleasant reflection 
still further away, he added : 

‘ ‘ About provisioning your late guests for their journey, 
Don Valerian, I did that myself.” 

“How do you mean, doctor?” 

“You know that beautiful rifle I bought from the 
American merchant in Santa Fe?” 

“Of course I do. You brought it here with you, and 
I knew that you’ve lent it to our friend, the Texan.” 

‘ ‘ No, I gave it to him. It was so grand to see how he 
could use it. He could kill a bird with it and not spoil 
the skin, or even ruffle a feather. I am indebted to him 
for some of my best specimens So long as the ranger 
carries that gun, you need have no fear that either he or 


THE SONG INTERRUPTED. 263 

his companion will perish from hunger — even on the 
Staked Plain. Now, Adela, I Ve set the string to rights, 
and we await your song. ” 

The young girl took up her guitar, and commenced 
singing one of those inimitable lays for which the language 
of Cervantes is so celebrated. 

It was a patriotic chant, intended to uplift the hearts of 
the two refugees in their solitary exile. Yet, despite its 
stirring strain, the hearts of those who listened to it could 
not help feeling sad, as if some boding fear still held pos- 
session of them. She who sang was under a similar in- 
fluence, and in spite of all her efforts, her voice came not 
in its accustomed volume and sweetness, while the strings 
of the instrument seemed all out of tune. 

Suddenly, while she was in the middle of the song, the 
two hounds, that had been lying upon the floor, sprang 
from their recumbent position, giving utterance to a fierce 
growl, and then rushed simultaneously through the open 
door. 

The singing was at once suspended, while Don Valerian 
and the doctor rose hastily to their feet. 

The bark of the watch-dog in some quiet farm-yard, 
amid the homes of civilization, can give no idea of the 
startling effect which the same sound creates on the Indian 
frontier. In the valley of the Lone Ranch it could not 
fail to cause alarm. 

A hoof at that moment struck upon the stones outside — 
that of either horse or mule. It could not be Lolita’s, for 


264 


THE SONG INTERRUPTED. 


the mustang mare was securely stalled at some distance 
off, and there were no other animals. Their late guests 
had taken the two saddle-mules — the only others being 
the mules sent away with the peon Manuel. 

“It’s Manuel come back,” exclaimed the doctor. “We 
ought to be glad instead of scared. Come, Don Valerian, 
we shall have our cigaritto yet. ” 

“It’s not Manuel,” said Miranda; “the dogs would 
have known him before this. Hear how they keep^on 
baying. Ha ! what’s that ? Chico’s voice ! Somebody has 
got hold of him !” 

A cry from the peon outside, succeeded by expostula- 
tions, as if he was struggling in some strong grasp, then 
becoming commingled with the shriller screams of Con- 
chita, were sounds almost simultaneous. 

Don Valerian rushed toward his sword, the doctor laying 
hold of the first weapon that came in his way. 

But weapons were of no avail where there were not 
hands enough to wield them. In the rude log structure 
there were doors front and back, and through both poured 
a stream of men in uniform, armed with swords, pistols, 
and lances. Before Miranda could disengage his sword 
from the scabbard, a glittering line of lance-points were 
within six inches of his breast, while the good doctor was 
similarly menaced. Both saw that resistance would be 
idle ; it could only end in their instant impalement. 

“Surrender, rebels 1” cried a commanding voice, rising 


THE SONG INTERRUPTED. 265 

above the din. “ Drop your weapons at once, if you wish 
your lives spared. Soldiers, disarm them !” 

Miranda recognized the voice. Perhaps had he sooner 
heard it, he might have held on to his sword and taken 
the chances of a desperate struggle. 

It was too late. Just as the weapon was wrested from 
his grasp he saw, standing in the door-way, the man he 
had most to fear — Gil Uraga. 


266 


A NIGHT OF ANXIETY, 


CHAPTER XLI. 

A NIGHT OF ANXIETY. 

Frank Hamersley and Walt Wilder, concealed in the 
cedar-scrub, awaited ,the morning light to give them a 
revelation, not patiently, but with spirits chafing and 
agonized. They were alike interested in the story that 
the sun should reveal. Both had their passion, each ir 
his respective way, each a loved one in danger. 

Neither closed eye in sleep. With nerves terribly strung, 
and bosoms wildly agitated, they lay awake, counting th<. 
hours and questioning the stars. 

They conversed but little, and that only in whispers. 
The night was profoundly still. They could distinctly hea 
the voices of their troopers left on picket below. 

Hamersley, who understood their tongue, could ever 
make sense of their conversation. It was ribald and bias 
phemous — boasts of their pleasant companionship with th- 
dames of the Del Norte, and curses at the ill-starred expe 
dition that was separating them from their sweethearts. 

Later a luminous halo, stealing up to the summit of th 
mound, showed that they had struck a light, and shortl 
after the phrases, '"Soto en el puerto! Cavallo mazol 
(The knave in the gate ! The queen winner !) proclaime 


A NIGHT OF ANXIETY. 267 

them engaged in the never-ending national game of 
“monte.” 

Until about midnight Frank Hamersley and the hunter 
listened to the calls and curses of the gamblers. Then 
other sounds reaching their ears, absorbed all their atten- 
tion. 

Up out of the valley on the elastic air came the baying 
of the blood-hounds, carried by reverberation along the 
face of the cliffs. Then, almost instantly after, a human 
voice, quickly followed by another. The first was that of 
Chico, the second Conchita. 

All these sounds the listeners understood — could con- 
jecture pretty closely their import. 

“They’re at the shanty now,” muttered Walt. “The 
dogs hev gin tongue on bearin’ ’em approach. That fust 
shout war from the Injun peon, an’ the tother air hern — 
my gurl’s. Durnation ! Ef they hurt but a har o’ her 
head — wagh ! what’s the use o’ my talkin’ ?” 

As if feeling his impotence, the hunter suddenly ceased 
speech, again bending his ear to listen. Hamersley, with- 
out heeding him, was doing this intently, his whole soul 
absorbed. 

From the valley came up a confusion of voices, though 
none of them loud. The stream, here and there falling 
in cataracts, of itself caused a babel of sound. Only a 
shout or scream could have been heard above it. 

There was no shout but that raised by the peon, no 
scream after the cries of Conchita had ceased j and, what 


A NIGHT OF ANXIETY. 


268 

more than all tranquillized the spirits of the listeners, no 
"^port of fire-arms. A shot at that moment heard by 
’ H^mersley would have given him more uneasiness than if 
hib had seen the gun or pistol, whence it proceeded, aimed 
/ It himself. 

“Thank Heaven!’’ he gasped out, after a good time 
spent in listening, “Miranda has made no resistance. He 
saw it would be of no use, and has quietly surrendered. 
It must be all over now, and they are captives.” 

“Wal, better that than they shed be corps,” was the 
consolatory reflection of the hunter. “So Icng as thar’s 
breath left in thar bodies we kin hev a hope, as I sayed 
arready. Let’s keep up our hearts, Frank, by thinking o’ 
thet fix atween the wagons, an’ the scrape in the cave. 
We’ve got clur o’ them in a way this child ’ud call mirake- 
lus, and we may yet get them clur in somethin* o’ the same 
fashion. S’long’s we’ve got our claws over a kupple o' 
good rifles we shed niver say die. Thet’s my readin’ o’ it. ” 

The hunter’s speech was encouraging, but for all that it 
did not hinder him or his comrade from falling soon after 
into despondency. 

When the day broke, with eyes keenly scrutinizing, they 
looked down into the valley. A mist hung over the 
stream, sprung from the spray of its cascades. It lifted at 
length, and displayed to them no more than they had 
been expecting. 

Around the ranch horses standing picketed, men roving 
about in uniform — a picture of military life in “country 


A NIGHT OF ANXIETY. 


269 


quarters. ” Their point of view was too far off for them to 
note individual forms or the actions being carried on. 
These last were left to conjecture — to them agonizing. 

They had to endure torturing suspense for long hours — 
up to that of noon. Then the notes of a bugle, rising 
clear above the hissing of the cascades, foretold a change 
in the spectacle. It was the call of “boots and saddles.” 
The men were seen caparisoning their horses and standing 
by the stirrups. 

Another bugle-strain gave the order to “mount,” and 
soon after the “forward.” Then the troop in line was 
seen filing off, disappearing under the trees, like some 
gigantic serpent, white drapery fluttering around its head, 
as if tlie reptile had seized upon some tender prey — a dove 
from its cote — and was bearing it off to its slimy lair. 


270 


A TEMPTATION RESISTED, 


CHAPTER XLIl. . 

A TEMPTATION RESISTED. 

For fully twenty minutes the two men waited with nervous 
impatience. It required this time to make the ascent from 
the ranch to the upper plain. After entering among the 
trees, the soldiers and their captives were out of sight, but 
the clattering of the horses’ hoofs could be heard, as they 
struck upon the rock-strewn path that led upward from the 
ravine. Once or twice a trumpet sounded, telling of the 
progress of the troops. 

At length, its head came in sight, and soon after the 
leading files, following single, one after the other as they 
ascended along the narrow ledge. 

As the path became more open between the twin 
mounds the formation changed into twos, though a single 
horseman still held the lead. 

Presently he was near enough for his features to be 
distinguished, and Hamersley’s heart struck fiercely against 
his ribs as he recognized them. If there had been any 
doubt before, it was settled now. His antagonist in the 
duel, Gil Uraga. And, equally past doubt, the man who 
had conducted the attack upon his caravan and killed his 
comrades. His horse, now bestridden by the ruffian, was 
proof. 


A TEMPTATION RESISTED. 


271 


He was got up in splendid style, very different from the 
dust-stained cavalier who the day before had passed over 
the plain. Now he appeared in a gorgeous laced uniform, 
with lancer cap and plume, gold cords and aiguillettes 
dangling over his breast. He had that morning made his 
toilet with care, in consideration of the company in which 
he intended to travel. 

Neither Hamersley nor the hunter kept his eyes long 
upon him. They were both looking for another object — 
each his own. These soon made their appearance, their 
loose drapery distinguishable amid the troop. They were 
at the head of the line, riding side by side, the young lady 
upon her own horse, Lolita, and the Indian damsel on a 
mule. They were free, both hand and limb, but two 
lancers, close following, had evidently the charge of keep- 
ing an eye upon them. 

Some files further rearward was another group, more 
resembling captives. This was composed of three men 
upon muleg, all fast bound to saddle and stirrup, two of 
them having their arms pinioned behind their backs. 
Their animals were led each by a trooper preceding it. 
The two about whose security so much care had been 
taken were Don Valerian and the doctor, The third, with 
his arms left free, was the peon, Chico. His fellow-ser- 
vant, Manuel, also on muleback, was following not far 
behind, but in his demeanor there was nothing of the 
prisoner. If he looked gloomy, it was from thinking of 
his black treason and ingratitude. Perhaps he may have 


272 


A TEMPTA TION RESISTED. 


by this time repented, or more likely the prospect was not 
so cheerful. After all, what would be his reward? He 
had ruined his master and several others besides. But 
that would not win him the respect of Conchita. 

Hamersley felt some little relieved as Don Valerian 
came in sight, and more as the march brought him nearer, 
and he could perceive no sign of his being wounded. The 
elaborate fastenings were of themselves evidence that no 
injury had yet befallen him. It was a struggle of resist- 
ance, ending in his being cut or shot down, they had most 
dreaded ; and what they now knew of Uraga made it quite 
probable that he would have sought a pretext for it. As 
Don Valerian was still alive, and being carried off a pris- 
oner, his enemy had perhaps some other purpose. 

One by one, and two by two, the troop came filing on, 
till its leader was opposite to where Hamersley and Walt 
were concealed among the cedars. Well screened by the 
thickly set branches, and the dark dense foliage that cov- 
ered them, they could note every movement passing below. 
The distance was about two hundred yards on a down- 
slanting direction. 

When the lancer colonel came up to where the picket 
had been posted, he halted and gave an order. It was for 
the guards to fall in along with the rest of the troops. 

At this moment a similar thought was in the minds of 
the two men watching him from the top of the mound. 
The hunter was the first to give speech. He did it in a 
whisper : 


A TEMPTATION RESISTED. 


273 

“ Ef I ked trust the carry o’ this rifle, or yourn eyther.” 
was thinking of it,” was the reply, also in a whis- 
per; afraid it’s too far.” 

‘■‘If we ked pick him off it ’ud simperfly matters con- 
sid’able. ’T all events, it ’ud get your gurl out o’ danger, 
an’ in coorse both on ’em. I b’lieve the hul on ’em wuld 
run at bearin’ a shot. Then we ked give ’em a second, 
an’ load an' fire half a dozen times afore they ked mount 
up hyar, ef they’d dare to try it. I reck’n it’s too fur. The 
distance in these hyar high purairies is despurt deceivin’. 
Burned pity we kedn’t make sure. ” 

“We couldn’t. We might miss, and then ” 

“ Things ’ud only be wus. I reck’n we’d better let ’em 
slide now, an’ follow arter. Thar boun’ straight for the 
Bel Nort; but whether or no we kin eesy pick up thar 
track. ” 

Hamersley still hesitated, his fingers nervously tighten- 
ing on his gun, and then relaxing. His thoughts were 
flowing in a quick current — too quick for cool delibera- 
tion. He knew he could trust his own aim, as well as 
that of his comrade, but the distance was doubtful, and 
both might miss. Then it would be certain death to 
them, for the place was such that there would be no 
chance to escape, with a hundred lancers riding after 
them, they themselves mounted on two poor mules. 
These could now be reached without difficulty and dan- 
ger. Even if they could defend themselves for the 
moment, it could not be for long. Two against a hun- 


274 


A TEMPT A TION RESISTED. 


dred, they must in time be overpowered. He could not 
believe what Walt had said — that the troopers would run 
after the second shot. Not likely, even if their leader 
should fall at the first. 

Besides, Uraga was cariying his prisoners to New Mex- 
ico — to Albuquerque, of course. He and his comrade 
were Americans, and not proscribed there. They could 
follow, and watch the development of events. Some bet- 
ter opportunity might arise for a rescue. A Mexican 
prison might offer this, and, from all he knew, would. 

Only one thought hindered him from giving way to this 
reasoning — the thought of Adela traveling in such com- 
pany, under such an escort worse than unprotected. 

Once more he scanned the distance that separated him 
from Uraga, his gun tightly grasped. 

Had the lancer-colonel suspected his proximity at that 
moment, and what was passing in his mind, he would 
have sat less pompously in his saddle. 

Patience, backed by prudence, asserted its claim, and 
the grasp on the gun was again relaxed. 

The lancer-troop, filing up the gap, formed into a more 
compact order of march, and then struck off over the 
plain in the direction whence they had come. 


A STRAGGLER .PICKED UP. 


275 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

A STRAGGLER PICKED UP. 

Hamersley and the Texan kept close to their places of 
concealment on the top of the hill. To have descended to 
the plain would have been to discover themselves to the 
eye of any lancer who might be looking back. Even to 
go down to their animals would risk this, for the ravine 
where they had left them opened westerly. 

It was a rigorous necessity for them to remain where 
they were until the troop had got ten miles off, for in that 
pure atmosphere a horseman, magnified by the mirage, 
might be sighted at this distance. Though they would be 
mounted on Mexican mules, the Texan’s tall figure would 
make up for the defect in the dimensions of his animal. 

There was no help for it but to keep their place till the 
time should arrive for leaving it. It made not much dif- 
ference, as, after starting along the track, they would have 
to keep the same distance. 

As the troop had gone off in the ordinary measured 
walk, and was still continuing this tardy pace, their pa- 
tience would be tried for at least two hours. Now no 
longer in dread of being observed, Walt took out his pipe, 
while Hamersley lit a cigar— one of those with which his 


270 


A STJ^AGGLER PICKED UP. 


late host had provided him, without telling him they were 
the last. The spirits of both were depressed to the deepest 
gloom ; the nicotine might some little relieve them. They 
had not been smoking more than a minute, when a 
sound reaching their ears caused both of them to start. 
It came from below, and at first they thought it might be 
one of their own mules kicking against the rocks, for it 
resembled this. But on listening they heard it again, and 
could tell that it did not come from that side. Still was 
it like a hoof-stroke either of horse or mule. It evidently 
ascended out of the gap from which the lancers had lately 
passed. 

Once more creeping back to their point of observation, 
and craning their necks outward, they looked below. There 
they saw what surprised them not a little — a man leading 
a mule out from behind a huge bowlder of rock that lay 
in the gap. 

At a glance they recognized the man — Manuel, the 
traitor. He appeared to be proceeding by stealth, casting 
apprehensive looks in the direction in which the troopers 
had ridden off, as if to assure himself that they were all 
gone. It was evident that he had concealed himself and 
his mule behind the bowlder, with the intention of staying 
till they were out of sight. 

But what could be his motive, purpose, or object? This 
was the puzzle to those who now looked down upon him. 
They did not dwell upon it scarcely for an instant. It was 
at once apparent that their object could be best served by 


A STRAGGLER PICKED UP. 


277 


getting their hands upon the traitor — not to kill, but to 
make him confess. 

The difficulty was how to do this without being dis- 
covered by the departing troop, still less than a mile off. 
It was just possible they could scramble down the side of 
the mound that faced the gap. It was steep, but not pre- 
cipitous. Going that way they would not be seen by the 
soldiers ; but they would by the man himself long before 
they could reach him, and as he had now mounted his 
mule, he could easily gallop off and rejoin the troop. 
This would be their undoing. 

While they were considering what was the best course 
to pursue, a movement on the part of the peon relieved 
them from all uncertainty. 

Instead of heading his mule upward toward the plain, 
he turned it in the opposite direction, and commenced 
moving down into the valley. Thej saw this with sur- 
prise, for they could not guess his purpose. No matter; 
there was a chance now of laying hold of him and making 
him declare it. 

As soon as he had turned the angle of the cliff that 
concealed the downward path from their sight, they com- 
menced the descent of the slope. They did not think of 
going to get their mules, for that route was still inter- 
dicted. In the chase they were now entering on, they 
would have no need of them — better indeed without them, 
since the path into the valley could be traversed quicker 
afoot than on muleback. 


278 


A STRAGGLER PICKED UP. 


They reached the bottom of the ravine, and there paused 
before continuing the pursuit. They only stopped to con- 
sider what would be the best way to make sure of their 
man. They did not wish to shoot him ; that would defeat 
their purpose, besides risking their own safety. Borne 
upward on the tranquil air, the crack of a rifle might yet 
reach the ears of the receding troop. 

“I’ll tell you how, ’’said the ex-ranger, to whom this 
sort of thing was a professional specialty. “You stay hyar, 
Frank, an’ let me foller him down. He’s agoing back to 
the ranch for some purpiss, an’ I reck’n we’ve got him in 
the trap. Jess squat about that ’ere rock, an’ see he don’t 
pass ye out hyar. I’ll grab him afore he kin git out by 
the other eend, ef he mean that, which for sartin he don’t. 
The ranch are what he’s arter, an’ Til git him thar, if not 
sooner. Keep your ears open, an’ when ye hear me give 
a wheel o’ a whissel ye kin foller down.” 

Hamersley saw the rationality of this plan, and at once 
signified his approval of it by placing himself behind the 
rock — the same bowlder where the peon had made his 
hiding-place. Without another word, Walt started down 
the ravine, and w^as soon lost to his comrade’s sight, dis- 
appearing round the projecting angle of the cliff. 

The young Kentuckian was not kept waiting a very great 
while — only about twenty minutes. Then the promised 
“wheef” came up from the valley — loud enough to be 
distinguished above the sound of the cascades, but not to 
be heard far off on the plain. From the direction, he 


A STRAGGLER PICKED UP, 


279 


could tell it was sent from the ranch, or somewhere near 
it ; and, without losing a moment, he hastened down 
toward it. 

On reaching the ranch, just as he expected, he found 
Manuel in the clutches of the Texan — not exactly in his 
grasp, but lying upon the ground beside him, with a rope 
around his ankles, and another binding his wrists. 

I ked a caught the skunk a leetle sooner,” Walt said, 
“but I was kewrous to find out what he was arter. Hyer’s 
the explecation o’ it.” 

He pointed to a large bag lying near, with the contents 
half poured out of it— a rich array of jewelry and fancy 
articles, suggesting a cornucopiae spilling his fruits and 
flowers. Hamersley recognized some of the articles as 
part of the property of his late host. 

“Stolen plunder!” said Walt; “that’s what it air; an’ 
stole from a master as he’s betrayed— maybe to death— 
an’ a mistress that’s been too kind to him. Darnation I 
thar’s a tortess-shell comb as belonged to my Conchita, 
an’ a pair o’ slippers I ken swar war hern. What shall we 
do wi’ him 

“What we intended,” said Hamersley, assuming a 
serious air. “Make him confess, and when we have got 
his story out of him, we shall think about what next. 

The confession was not very difficult to extract. With 
Walt Wilder’s bowie-knife gleaming before his eyes, its 
blade held within six inches of his ribs, the wretch re- 
vealed all that had passed, since the moment of his first 


28 o 


A STRAGGLER PICKED UP. 


meditating treason. He even made declaration of the 
motive, knowing the nobility of the men who threatened 
him, and thinking by this means to obtain pardon. 

To strengthen his chances, he went still further, turning 
traitor against him to whom he had lately sold himself— 
Uraga. He had overheard a conversation between the 
Mexican colonel and Lieutenant Roblez. It was to the 
effect that they did not intend to take Colonel Miranda all 
the way back to Albuquerque. How they meant to dis- 
pose of him he did not know. He had only half over- 
heard the conversation. 

About the senorita he had heard something, too, but 
did not understand it. 

Hamersley could only supply the blank with dread, dire 
imaginings. 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 


28 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 

While they were deliberating what to do with their 
prisoner, and a good deal puzzled about it, a sound 
reached their ears — first those of Walt Wilder, and then of 
his comrade — that caused both to start and turn pale. 

There could be no mistaking it for aught else than the 
trampling of horses — of many horses ; and they could have 
no other thought than that the lancer troop had returned 
into the valley and were approaching the place where they 
stood. 

Instinctively they retreated inside the ranch, without 
taking their prisoner along with them. He was so tied 
he could not stir from the spot, and if he did, what differ- 
ence would it make } Their horoscope was a fight on the 
defensive ; and the hut, with its stout timber walls, was 
the best place they could think of for maintaining it. It 
had two doors — one front and back — both of heavy slabs, 
split stems of the palmetto. They were made strong and 
to shut close, for grizzly bears sometimes strayed around 
the ranch. 

They were quickly slammed to and barred, and then 
the two men took their stand, each by a window, these 


282 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 


being but apertures in the log wall of small dimensions. 
With eyes keenly bent, and communicating to each other 
what they heard, the two stood to await the expected ap- 
pearance of the enemy. 

It was strange, too. The hoof-strokes heard did not 
seem to come down the valley, but in the opposite direc- 
tion. Still, this might be a deception of sound caused by 
the echo of the cliffs. 

The question would soon be solved ; and with beating 
hearts and bated breath, they awaited the solution. 

Presently other sounds fell upon their ears to those al- 
ready reaching them — the voices of men. This was to be 
expected ; but again they believed, or fancied, that it was 
up the valley, and not down, the horses and men were 
coming. 

As they listened, laughter became commingled with the 
voices, hitherto heard only in conversation — laughter, and 
loud peals like the neighing of horses. It was altogether 
unlike what might, would, or could have issued from 
Mexican throats, while at the same time it was not the 
laughter of the Indian. 

While they were cudgeling their brains to arrive at an 
elucidation of the mystery, a tableau was displayed be- 
fore their wondering gaze that saved them all further 
trouble. 

In front of the ranch was a tract of open ground of 
about three or four acres in extent, in the center of which 
was the lakelet already spoken of, at the lower end of 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 


283 


which the stream swept outward among trees. From un- 
der the shadow of these came riding out a string of horse- 
men, one after the other, until between forty and fifty had 
deployed upon the bordering plain. 

There they halted, within short gun-shot of the dwell- 
ing, and appeared to gaze upon it with surprise — almost 
wonder. Only for a moment, while a word or two passed 
between them, after which they came riding in toward it. 
Through their loop-hole-like windows Walt Wilder and 
Hamersley had a clear view of them as they approached. 
There was not the slightest possibility of mistaking them 
for the troop whose return they had been dreading. No 
two bodies of mounted men could have presented a more 
dissimilar appearance. 

Instead of the little mannikin Mexicans, mounted on 
their gingerly mustangs, the horsemen now approaching, 
as well as their steeds, were gigantic in contrast; while 
their dress, arms, and accouterments, horse-gear, and 
everything else, were as unlike those of Uragas lancers as 
a bear to a monkey. 

Whatever effect their appearance may have had upon 
Hamersley, it was to the eye of Walt Wilder a familiar 
tableau ; and so pleasing, that at the first sight of it, when 
fairly displayed on the open ground, he sprang to the 
door, kicked out the bar, and drew the slabs back, half 
detaching them from their hinges. In another instant he 
was outside, Hamersley following him. 

“Dog-gone my cats!” was the exclamatory phrase that 


284 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 


broke from his lips as he cleared the threshold of the 
cabin. “Fire an’ scissors! what’s this? Is Walt Wilder 
in a dream? Why, Frank, look thar? Thar’s Ned Haynes 
o’ the Texan Rangers, my ole captin ; an’ thar’s Nat Cully 
— an’ durn it I thar’s the hul kumpany 1” 

“Walt Wilder!” cried a score of voices ; while the men 
who gave utterance to them seemed for the moment to 
stand aghast, as if a specter had appeared to them ; then, 
riding rapidly up, they surrounded him. 

“What does this mean, Walt?” asked the captain of the 
Rangers. 

‘ ‘ That’s jess what I want ter know. What air ye doin’ 
away hyar? What fetched ye, boys?” 

“Why, you. We came to bury you !” 

“Buryw^./”* 

“ Yis, boss,” said Cully, leaping from his horse and giv- 
ing his old comrade a prairie embrace. “ For that purpiss 
we kim ex-press. And as I know’d ye hed a kindly feelin’ 
torst yur ole shootin’-iron. I’ve brought it along, intendin’ 
to lay it in the grave aside o’ ye. ” 

As Cully spoke he handed a gun to Walt, who at once 
recognized the rifle he had been compelled to abandon 
when pursued by the Indians. 

“This don’t make things much clarer,” said Walt. 

‘ ‘ Come, fellurs, explain yurselves. I see it’s my ole gun, 
but how did ye git purseshun o’ her? That’s what pur- 
plexes this child. Talk plain. Cully. Tell us what’s all 
about. ” 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 


285 

** Wal,” said Cully, “I reckon it’s you as oughter tell us 
that. Our story air that we kirn acrost a party o’ Tenawa 
Kimunch, under a chief they called Horned Lizajd. He 
hain’t no more now, as he’s wiped out, ’long wi’ the ma- 
jority o’ his band. We did that, down on Pee-cawn Crik. 
On his parson, arter he war throw’d in his tracks, we 
foun’ this rifle, which I know’d to be yourn. Sartint, we 
thort somethin’ hed happened to ye ; but we kedn t tell, 
hevin’ no sign or float-stick to give us a hint o’ yur whar- 
abouts. Chanced we hed captered a Mexikin renegade— 
thet possum ye see out thar. He war jeined in Horned 
Lizard’s lot, an’ he’d been ’long wi’ ’em sometime. So 
we fit a loose laryette roun’ his thropple, an’ on the prpm- 
ise o’ its gittin’ tighter, he tolt us the hul story — how they 
hed attacked an’ plundered a carryvan, an’ all ’bout en- 
toomin’ you an’ a kimrade who war wi’ ye. Our bizness 
out hyar war to look up yur bones an’ gi’e ’em a more 
Christyun kind o’ berr’l. We war cn the way, the renny- 
gade guidin’ us. He said he ked take us a near cut up 
the gully through which we’ve jess come — the which, I 
take it, air one p’ the heads o’ the Red River. Near cut ! 
j)og-gone it I he’s been righter than I reck n he thort o . 
’Stead o’ yur bones, thar’s yur body, lookin’ as big as ever. 
Now, Walt, we want yur side o’ the story, the which ap- 
pears to be a dufned deal more o’ a unexplainable mistry 
than ourn. So open yur head, ole boss, an less hear it. 

Brief and graphic as was Cully’s narrative, it took Walt 
Wilder still less time to put his former associates in pos- 


286 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 


session of what had happened to him and the young man 
he now introduced to them as having been his companion 
in the closed cave. It was not the occasion to dwell upon 
details, either of that tragedy or the incidents succeed- 
ing it. They were chapters of the past; and there was 
one in the future yet unfinished that demanded immediate 
attention. 


FURTHER CROSS-QUESTIONING, 


287 


CHAPTER XLV. 

FURTHER CROSS-QUESTIONING. 

The arrival of the rangers at that moment was certainly 
a contingency of the strangest kind. Ten minutes later 
and they would have found the ranch deserted, for Ham- 
ersley and Walt Wilder had made up their minds to start, 
taking the traitor along with them. The Texans would 
have discovered signs to tell of recent occupation by a 
large body of men, and from the tracks of shod horses 
these skilled trailers would have known they had not been 
Indians. Still they would have made some delay around 
the ranch, and encamped in the valley for the night. This 
they declared to have been their intention, for their horses 
were jaded by the expedition having been extended beyond 
its original purposes, and they themselves had suffered 
severe fatigue in making their way up the canon, which 
led out to the lower plain, nearly twenty miles of most 
difficult travel. 

In going out above, next morning they would have dis- 
covered the trail of the Mexican soldiers; but, although 
these were their sworn enemies, they might not have been 
tempted to follow them. The start of nearly twenty-four 
hours, their own animals in but poor condition, the likeli- 


288 


FURTHER CROSS.QUESTIONING. 


hood of a large body of the lancers being near, these 
considerations might have weighed with them, and they 
would have continued on to the spot to which the rene- 
gade was guiding them — a course leading northward, and 
altogether different. 

A singular coincidence then, their coming up at that 
exact time. It seemed the hand of Providence oppor- 
tunely extended ; and this Hamersley held it, as did also 
the hunter. 

Briefly as might be, they made known to the new- 
comers the circumstances in which they were placed. 
Their cause was at once unceremoniously espoused by the 
rangers. The voices in its favor were uttered with an 
energy and warmth that gave Hamersley a world of hope. 
Here were friends whose enemies were their own. And 
there was sufficient of them to pursue Uraga’s troop, and 
destroy it. They might overtake it before night; or, if 
not, on the morrow ; or, if not then, they would pursue it 
to the confines of New Mexico — to the banks of the Del 
Norte itself. 

Hamersley ’s heart was no more depressed. A plan for 
rescuing his friend Don Valerian from death, and saving 
Adela, his own sweetheart, from dishonor, was no longer 
a thing unfeasable — no more an apparent impossibility; 
there was now more than a probability, and almost a cer- 
tainty of their success. 

To the Texans, the proposal came like an invitation to 
a ball, or a frontier fandango. Excitement was the very 


FURTHER CROSS-QUESTIONING, 289 

breath of their life, a fight with the Mexican foeman their 
joy, a pursuit of him in any case their supreme delight. 
But pursuit such as this, having for its object not only the 
defeat of a hated enemy — far more hated than the Indian, 
because far more despised on account of his poltroonery — 
but the recovery of the captives, beautiful female captives, 
such as their old comrade Walt enthusiastically described 
them — this was the very thing to rouse them to vigorous 
resolve, and stir up in their hearts. the spirit of border 
romance — that spirit that had made them rangers. 

Notwithstanding their newly enkindled enthusiam, the 
rangers did not act rashly. 

Haynes, their captain, was an old “Indian fighter,” and 
one of the most experienced leaders of Texan border war- 
fare, long continued. 

Despite Hamersley’s natural wish to start at once on the 
pursuit, he counseled prudence; and Walt, of less fiery 
impatience, also inclined to this course. 

“But why should we lose a moment?” inquired the hot- 
blooded Kentuckian; “they cannot yet be more than five 
miles off. We may overtake them before the going down 
of the sun. ” 

“That’s just what we oughtn’t to do,” rejoined the ran- . 
ger chief. “Suppose they get sight of us before we are 
near? On the naked plain you speak of, they’ll be sure 
to do it. What then? Their horses, I take it, are fresh 
compared with ours. They might gallop off and leave us 


290 


FURTHER CROSS-QUESTIONING. 


to look after them like so many fools. Have time, too, to 
take their prisoners along with them. ” 

This last speech settled the question with Hamersley, 
and he no longer made opposition. 

‘"Let the sun go down," continued the Texan captain; 
“that’s just what we want. Since they’re bound due west 
I reckon we can easily keep on their trail, clear night or 
dark one. There’s Nat Cully can do that; and if our 
friend Walt hasn’t been spoiled by his late visit to the set- 
tlements,' I take it he can still be trusted for the same. ” 

The ranger and ex-ranger, both listening, remained 
modestly silent. 

“Our plan will be,’’ continued the captain, “to sur- 
round them in the night, and so make sure of them. 
They’ll have a camp, and these Mexican soldiers will be 
sure to keep fires burning late — if it’s only to give them 
light for their card -playing. That’ll guide us to their 
squatting-ground. ’’ 

The captain’s scheme seemed so sensible that no one 
opposed it; and in words Hamersley signified his assent. 

It was resolved to remain another hour in the valley, 
and then start for the upper plain. An hour would give 
the Texans time to recruit their horses on the sweet 
gramma-grass, and themselves on the game they had 
killed before entering the canon, which hung plentifully 
over the croups of their saddles, in the shape of wild 
turkeys, venison, bufialo, and bear meat. 

The fires in the ranch, and those that had been kindled 


FURTHER CROSS-QUFSTfONING, 


291 


by the soldiers around it, yet smoking, were replenished, 
and the abandoned cooking utensils once more called into 
use. But pointed saplings and the iron ramrods of their 
yager rifles — the ranger’s ordinary spit — were in more 
demand ; and broiling became the order of the day. 

Now, with more time, and a better opportunity to com- 
pare notes with their new associates, Hamersley and the 
hunter-guide discussed some facts relating to their own 
disaster, hitherto unknown or obscure to them. The most 
important of these was one less surprising to themselves 
than the Texans. It was the confirmation of a suspicion 
to which their thoughts had been already directed, as well 
from their own experience and observations as from the 
suggestions thrown out by their late host It was the con- 
nection of Uraga with the attack upon their caravan. 
They did not now need much for the confirmation of it. 
The possession of Hamersley ’s horse by the lancer-colonel 
was evidence circumstantial enough. But there was now 
a chance of having it direct — from the lips of the Mexican 
renegade, wtio must know all about the affair. He was 
once more put into the witness-stand, the lariat around 
his neck, its loose end over the limb of a tree. He at first 
lied point-blank, then equivocated, and at length, reflect- 
ing that in time it would be found out, and his life for- 
feited for not telling the truth, he made a clean breast of 
it — keeping back only the fact of his own agency, as a 
go-between of the two scoundrels — the white savage and 
the red. 


292 


A ^^norther:' 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

A ‘^NORTHER." 

When the rangers heard the tale of atrocity in all its 
completeness, their rage, already sufficiently excited, be- 
came almost ungovernable; and it was as much as their 
leader could do to restrain them from at once starting on 
the pursuit. Some of them even dropped their roast ribs 
half eaten, demanding to be led on. 

The counsels of the more prudent prevailed ; but it was 
not long after till most, if not all, believed this prudence 
to be misplaced. 

Grievingly Hamersley did so, and he had reason. 

It arose from a circumstance entirely unsuspected. While 
they were still in the midst of their meal, the sky that had 
been all the niorning of cerulean brightness, became sud- 
denly clouded — not clouded as this term is understood 
in the ordinary sense, but absolutely black, as if the sun 
had been extinguished, or had dropped down from the 
heavens. The change somewhat resembled a total eclipse, 
though still darker, and the darkness had come on more 
rapidly. It could not have been more than five minutes 
from the commencement till the obscurity had reached 
completeness. 


A ^^NORTHERr 


293 


Though troubled, chagrined, by the appearance, there 
were few who beheld it with surprise. None of the old 
prairie men were in any way astonished, for they knew 
what it meant. At the first portentous sign. Cully sprang 
to his feet, crying out : 

“A tornado — a norther 

Walt Wilder had observed it at the same time, and con- 
firmed the prognostic of his old ranger friend. This was 
before any of the others had noticed anything strange in 
the aspect of the sky, and when there was just the sus- 
picion of a shadow flawing over the sun’s disk. 

All the Texans understood the significance of the word 
“norther” — a storm or tornado, usually preceded by a 
hot, stifling atmosphere, with drifting dust-clouds, accom- 
panied by sheet or forked lightning, and roaring, terfific 
thunder, followed by wind and rain, sometimes hail or 
sleet, as if the sluices of heaven were set open, ending in 
a blast of more regular direction, but chill as though direct 
from the Pole. 

In less than ten minutes after first seeing its sign, the 
storm was upon them. Down into the valley poured the 
dust, swept from the surface of the upper plain ; along 
with it the leaves and stalks of the artemisia and other 
weeds of the desert. 

Soon after followed the wind, at first in low sighs, like 
the sound of a distant sea, then roaring against the rocks, 
and swooping down among the trees, whose branches went 
crashing before its blast. Then the lightning, the thunder. 


294 


A NORTHERN 


and the rain — the last falling, not in drops but sheets, as 
if projected from a spout. 

For shelter the rangers rushed inside the ranch, leaving 
their horses to take care of themselves. The latter stood 
cowering under the trees, neighing with affright, the mules 
among them giving note to their plaintive whinny. There 
were dogs, too, that howled and barked, and other sounds 
that came from farther off, from the wild denizens of the 
forest — the screams of the cougar, the coyote, and the 
eagle ; the snorting of alarmed bears, and the hooting of 
scared owls. 

Crowded within the hut, so thickly as to leave only 
standing room, the men waited for the calming down of 
the storm. They could do so with the more patience 
knowing it would not long continue. It was not their 
first experience of a “norther.'' 

The only thought that troubled them was the delay — 
their being hindered from starting in the pursuit True, 
the party to be pursued would suffer from a like interrup- 
tion ; they would have to come to a stop during the storm, 
and the interval of distance would remain the same. 

But their tracks would be obliterated — every vestige of 
them. The wind, the rain, the dust would do this. If 
out of sight, as by this time they would be, how was their 
trail to be followed ? 

They were going due west, or nearly so. Nearly ! The 
deflection of a single point upon the prairies — above all 
on the Staked Plain — would leave the traveler like a ship 


A ^^NORTHERr 


295 

at sea without compass — to steer by guess-work, or go by 
chance. 

The only consoling reflection was, that the Mexican 
lancers would make halt and stay till the storm was over. 
They had some light baggage — a tent or two, with other 
camp equipage. This was learned from the peon, twice 
turned traitor; and Hamersley as well as Wilder had 
themselves made note of it. As on their part there ap- 
peared to be no particular reason for haste, they would 
not be likely to resume their march till the sky was quite 
clear, and therefore gain nothing on distance. And as 
after the storm their track would be more distinct than 
ever, by reason of the rain and the moist ground on which 
the hoof-tracks must be imprinted, all needed would be 
for the pursuers to deploy and strike the trail farther on. 
Time might be lost in all probability, but it was a hun- 
dred miles to the nearest Mexican settlement, and they 
could still hope to overtake Uraga long before he reached 
it. He would have to get into the heart of the settlements 
ere he could count on the safe keeping of his prisoners. 
This at least was the reflection of those who contemplated 
pursuing them. 

Fortified by this assurance, spoken by the sager ones of 
the party, the rangers remained inside the ranch, upon the 
roof of which the rain was still pouring down, without ex- 
periencing any very keen pangs of impatience. 

Walt Wilder himself did not show any terrible discon- 
tent. Whatever might be the danger of Don Valerian and 


296 


A NORTHERN 


the others, his Conchita was not quite so much exposed. 
The little brown-skinned damsel was not on the proscribed 
list ; and the great hunter, strong in the belief that he had 
her heart, as he had the promise of her hand, was less 
apprehensive of consequences. 

Besides, he was now in the midst of his old comrades, 
and the exchange of histories and reminiscences was suffi- 
cient to fill up the time and tranquillize its longings. 

Hamersley alone was really unhappy. Despite all the 
assurances spoken and the hopes felt, there was yet much 
uncertainty — enough to keep apprehension on the strain. 

His uneasiness, however, was still endurable, and only 
passed this point when a thought came into his mind — a 
memory that flashed across his brain as if a bullet had 
struck him between the temples. It was a mental shock 
that caused him to start, at the same time uttering a 
strange cry. 

‘ ‘ What is it, Mr. Hamersley V* asked the ranger captain, 
who was standing close by his side. 

“Great Heaven 1” exclaimed the young Kentuckian; 
“I had forgotten. We must start at once, or we shall be 
too late — too late 1” 

The lightning still flashed, the thunder rolled, the winds 
bellowed, and the rain swept down as sluice-like as ever. 

The men wondered. Some of them thought the prairie- 
merchant had gone mad. 

What could he mean? Haynes and several others, 
speaking at the same time, demanded an explanation. 


A •^norther:' 


297 


It was instantly given, and in as brief terms as possible. 

The path leading up to the plain for a portion of the 
way traversed the channel of the stream. When this be- 
came swollen, as at long intervals it did, by a rain-pour 
such as that now detaining them, there was no egress 
from the valley. The stream became a turbulent torrent, 
remaining so till the waters went down. Neither horse 
nor man could stem it ; and the cliffs closing chine-like 
each side, left no possible path. It was the same with the 
canon below, up which the rangers had themselves come. 
Any one caught in the valley during a storm must remain 
there till the flood subsided. 

Hamersley had been told all this by his late host, but 
up to that instant he had not thought of the circum- 
stance. The exciting scenes that preceded had caused 
him to forget it. 

An’ me, too; I forgot it !” came a voice from among 
the crowd, and from a head over-topping them all, recog- 
nizable as that of Walt Wilder. 

“Darnation, it’s all true — the ole doc tolt this child the 
same. Boys, we’ve got to put out from hyar right smart, 
ef we mean to retch the upper story o’ the Staked Plain 
inside o’ forty-eight hours. Rain or shine, storm or no 
storm, it’s got to be did, an’ hyar’s one as starts for the 
doin’ o’ it.” 

As the giant spoke, he commenced elbowing his way 
through the crowd, making for the door, where Hamersley 
had already preceded him. 


298 


A ^^norther:^ 


The example was electric, though it needed not that. 
Every man of them had now a clear comprehension of 
what was meant ; and despite the pelting rain, they rushed 
out into the open ground, and ran toward their horses. 

Fortunately, there were two or three supernumerary 
steeds, which the Texans had picked up on the outside 
plains and brought along with them. This gave the op- 
portunity for all to be mounted — not omitting the rene- 
gade or the traitor. 

Quick as at the call of a cavalry bugle, the men were 
mounted, and going at full gallop up the valley path, 
regardless of the rain, reckless of the blast blowing in 
-their teeth. Knowing the way and guiding it, Hamersley 
and the hunter rode at the head, the captain of the rangers 
and Cully after, the rest stringing out behind. 

The place was reached where the stream, coming from 
between the twin cliffs, became spread into a broader 
channel, taking a more tranquil course through the valley. 
There was no tranquillity there. 

Through the cleft of dark-red sandstone a torrent was 
roaring, its surface white with foam. The strongest horse 
could not have stemmed it. A hippopotamus would 
have been swept down like one of its snow-flakes. As 
easily might a salmon have ascended the cataract of 
Niagara. 

Hamersley saw this at a glance. His heart sank within 
his bosom, and his body almost fell prostrate to the earth 
as he slid despairingly from his saddle. 


A norther: 


299 


His anguished cry, **Too late 1” repeated in louder tone 
by Walt Wilder, and taken up by the Texans, close press- 
ing behind, was scarcely heard amid the hissing of the 
stream that surged mockingly by. 


300 


A RUSH FOR SHELTER. 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

A RUSH FOR SHELTER. 

When fairly out of the gap, Uraga, directing his ensign 
to take charge of the troop, rode at some distance ahead, 
Roblez alongside of him. It was with the object of hold- 
ing converse without being overheard by their followers. 

“What do you think of the Senorita Miranda.?” was the 
lancer-colonel’s first question, as soon as they were out of 
ear-shot. 

Roblez had not seen Miranda’s sister before their rude 
intrusion of the preceding night. 

“Think, colonel? What could one think? She s cer- 
tainly the most beautiful captive I ever saw.” 

“Not captive. I wish she were. I might make better 
terms with her. However, when the brother is once out 
of the way, and that old plotter, Prospero, she will be 
easier to deal with.” 

“And you have determined upon getting rid of him?” 

“That’s a silly question to ask for a man who knows 
me as you, Roblez. Of course, I have determined, and I 
think you will answer for it that I generally carry out my 
determinations. ” 

“He seems not a bad sort of fellow, and he had the 
name of being an accomplished soldier.” 


i 


A RUSH FOR SHELTER. 


301 


“You are growing wonderfully merciful, comrade. Is 
it the tender glances of the senorita that have so softened 
you ?" 

“Not likely,” said the lieutenant, laughing; “the eyes 
that could pierce the heart of Gaspardo Roblez are not to 
be found in the head of woman. If I have any weakness 
in the feminine way, it’s for the Goddess Fortuna ; and so 
long as I can get a pack of playing cards, with some rich 
man to join me in the game, I shall leave petticoats 
alone.” 

Uraga laughed in his turn, for he knew the idiosyncrasy 
of his old comrade in crime — a strange one for a man who 
had often committed robbery, and more than once stained 
his soul with murder.. 

Cards, dice, and drink were his passion. Of love he 
was incapable, and yet not given to lust. In his life’s 
history there had been a chapter of love, and Uraga knew 
it. It had reached an unfortunate termination, having a 
good deal to do with his after evil life. And it had steeled 
his heart against the female sex to something more than 
contempt — almoat to an undying hatred. 

Like Byron’s Corsair, Gaspardo Roblez had but one 
virtue left— courage, which always begets admiration for it 
in others. 

It was this that was leading him to put in a word for 
Don Valerian Miranda, whose bravery he knew of, for it 
was well known in the Mexican army. 


302 


A RUSH FOR SHELTER, 


“He will be tried by the State, and perhaps executed, 
anyhow,” he said, in continuation of his pleading. 

“ Not the slightest hope of it,” answered Uraga. “That 
might have been done when we first turned the party out. 
Too much time has passed for extreme measures now. 
Besides, things at the capital are a little bit shaky, and our 
worthy chief would scarcely dare to sign a sentence of death 
for a man like Miranda. ” 

“At all events, he could be put in prison, and kept 
there.” 

‘ ‘ Bah ! what are our prisons ? Not one of them that 
hasn’t got a door with a golden key, and any day they may 
be set upon by a pronunciamenio. In a jail — especially a 
New Mexican one — there’s no security for the safe keeping 
of Miranda.” 

“Must he die ?” 

“Gaspardo Roblez, turn your head round and look in 
my face !” 

“Well, colonel?” 

“You see that scar in my cheek?” 

“Certainly ; it is conspicuous enough. ” 

‘ ' He did not give it, but he was the cause of my receiv- 
ing it twelve month ago. Ever since it has been the curse 
and constant agony of my life I feel it as though it were 
a fire eternally burning upon my face. It can only be 
extinguished by the blood of those who kindled it. One 
of the two has escaped me by a miracle, a mystery. But 
there is hope yet. The peon says for certain that he has 


A RUSH FOR SHELTER. 


303 


gone out to the Del Norte ; and if there's a spot in all New 
Mexico where he can hide himself from my pursuing ven- 
geance, I don't know it. As for Miranda, I am now pretty 
sure of him ; and I fancy, after seeing that ugly gash on 
my face, and the glance of my eyes above it, you will not 
repeat the question, ‘ ‘ must he die. " 

*‘But how is it to be done without scandal ? You know, 
colonel, it will not answer to murder the man outright. If 
not held to account by court-martial, it will at least get 
you into disgrace — myself as well. Had he shown fight, 
and given us a pretext, it would have been different. " 

^‘My dear Gaspardo, don’t trouble yourself about pre- 
texts and plans. I have one that will serve all purposes, 
my own in particular. There will be no scandal — not a 
whisper or suspicion of it. ‘‘What is it?” 

This question was addressed to a corporal who, detached 
from the troop, had ridden up and saluted. 

“The ensign sends me to report, colonel, that the 
Indian peon has somehow or other slipped away. ” 

“What! the man Manuel.?” 

“ The same, colonel. ” 

“Halt!” commanded Uraga, calling to the troop, which 
instantly came to a stand. “What’s this I hear?” he said, 
riding back to the head and speaking to the ensign. 

“Colonel, we miss the fellow who guided us. He must 
have dropped behind as we rode up out of the valley. ” 

“ It doesn’t much signify,” said Uraga in an undertone, 


304 


A RUSH FOR SHELTER. 


to his adjutant, Roblez. ‘‘WVve got all out of him we 
need care for. Still it can be no harm to have him along. 
No doubt he’s stolen off to settle some affair of his own — 
some pilferings, I presume — and will be found at the 
ranch. Corporal, take a file of men, go back into the 
valley, find this loiterer, and bring him with you. As I 
intend marching slowly to-day, you’ll easily overtake us at 
the night-camp.” 

The coporal, singling out the file as directed, rode off, 
while the troop continued its interrupted march, the 
colonel and his adjutant again riding far in advance, the 
former making further disclosure of his plans to his com- 
panion in crime. They were atrocious. 

Their diabolical dialogue had continued for about an 
hour, when another lancer, riding up, again interrupted 
them. He was a grizzled old veteran, who had seen life 
upon the plains. 

“What is it Hernandez?” demanded Uraga. 

“Senor colonel,” said the man, pointing to a little speck 
in the sky that had just shown itself above the north- 
eastern horizon, “do you see that?” 

“That spot of cloud? Yes. What of it?” 

“There’ll come trouble from it. It doesn’t look much 
now, but in ten minutes it’ll be over us. It’s a norther. ” 

“You think so, Hernandez?” 

“I’m sure of it, colonel. I’ve seen it too often. You 
may trust me, senores — we’re going to have a stojm.” 


A RUSH FOR SHELTER. 


305 


“In that case we had better come to a halt, and see 
what can be done for shelter. I see nothing that would 
screen a cat but that little clump of stunted trees. Well, 
better it than nothing ; it’ll keep the full blast off us; and 
as I suppose we shall have to make it a halt for the night, 
we’ll get wood from it for our fires. Ride back to the 
troop, Hernandez. Tell the ensign to follow up to the 
black-jack grove, and quick. Have the tents ready to be 
pitched. ” 

Hernandez did as directed, going at a gallop, while the 
colonel and his adjutant trotted on to the clump of oaks, 
that was only three or four hundred yards out of their 
line of march. It was the same that had given shade and 
concealment to Frank Hamersley and the hunter on the 
day before. 

Uraga and Roblez saw the track of their mules, and 
exchanged some words regarding them. But the fast 
darkening sky drove the subject out of their thoughts, and 
they occupied themselves in choosing a spot for the pitch- 
ing of their tents. 

Of these there were two — one that the colonel had 
brought with him from Albuquerque, the other found on 
the Lone Ranch, an old marquee that the refugees had 
taken with them in their flight. This had been brought 
along for the accommodation of the female captives, one 
of whom Uraga had reasons for treating, if not tenderly, 
at least with the show of it. 

They were soon pitched in the shelter of the black-jacks. 


3o6 


A RUSH FOR SHELTER. 


and occupied as ordered by Uraga, while the lancers, 
hastily dismounting, picketed their horses and made other 
preparations for the storm predicted by their comrade, 
Hernandez, as something terrible. 

Before long they saw his prediction fulfilled to the spirit 
and the letter. 


THE SPLIT TRAIL. 


307 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

* 

THE SPLIT TRAIL. 

It would be impossible to depict the chagrin of the 
rangers when they found themselves stayed in the pursuit 
— perhaps thwarted in a vengeance every man of them 
keenly felt after hearing the confession of the renegade. 

They saw that they were in a trap, helpless to get out 
of it. Walt Wilder — who during his sojourn in the valley 
and in his excursions with the botanist, had explored 
every corner of it — told them so, and the traitor Manuel 
confirmed it. At one or two places there was a possibility 
for a man to scale the cliff ; but he must be a nimble 
climber. And if all of them had been this — what good? 
They could not carry up their horses; and, afoot, what 
chance for them to overtake a troop of lancers, well 
mounted and marching in haste, for it was not likely these 
would make delay in the desert. 

How long before the flood would go down and the 
channel become shallow enough to be passable? This 
was the question that came next. Hamersley's memory 
did not s'^rve him to answer it, and Walt could only guess. 
Again the traitorous peon — not the renegade — was put 
upon the rack. 


\ 


3o8 


THE SPLIT TRAIL. 


‘'Always twenty-four hours— never less. Sometimes, 
when the storm was a severe one and much rain fell, two 
days. ” 

Much rain had fallen ; it was still pouring down. They 
might count upon the two days. 

And during this period of imprisonment, the pursued 
party would be upon the march ; would get at least three 
score miles ahead — in short, would reach the settlement 
before they could be overtaken. 

The rangers were furious— mad. Hamersley and the 
hunter were something more, or worse. Theirs was a 
madness mingled with the bitterest sorrow. It was an un- 
lucky moment for the corporal of lancers and the two men 
sent back by Uraga to fall into their hands, which they did. 
Having reached the valley-bottom just as the storm com- 
menced, they had taken refuge under the trees ; and the 
rangers, in their hurried ride through the rain, had not 
perceived them. But they had seen the rangers as these 
galloped past; and surprised as well as alarmed by an 
apparition— strange anywhere, but far more in such a place 
— they had taken the precaution still further to conceal 
themselves by going farther in among the trees. 

It did not avail them. The disappointed pursuers, on 
finding their route interrupted by the swollen stream, saw 
no reason for remaining there ; and leaving one or two of 
their number to watch the flood and report the first appear- 
ance of its subsidence, they started back toward the ranch. 

By this time the rain had ceased, and the atmosphere 


THE SPLIT TRAIL. 


309 


had become comparatively quiet. This was unfortunate 
for the skulking lancers, for as the Texan horses returned 
along the rocky path their shod hoofs rung clear upon the 
stones, and challenged a neigh from their own animals. 

It was loud enough to betray them ; and in less than ten 
minutes after, all three were prisoners — taken without 
resistance. 

Almost without trial had they to submit to their fate — a 
fearful one. Their captors, furious, frenzied, only waited 
to ascertain their reason for being there. The questions . 
were quick and the responses ready. With a score of rifles 
pointed at their heads and breasts, there was not much 
likelihood of hesitation. Nor did they equivocate. They 
had no time to make up a story, and they told the truth. 

Alas ! it did not save them. Their examiners and judges 
were still half insane with rage and disappointment. The 
time for mercy had gone out of their heads ; and in ten 
minutes after the bodies of the lancers were swinging from 
the pecan trees — by the neck. 

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 

Nearly two days passed before the torrent could be 
stemmed. There was not a minute lost after it was dis- 
covered to be fordable; and when at length forded, it 
tried the strength of the Texan horses and the courage of 
the men. 

Without serious accident they got through the canon 
and ascended to the upper level. As they rode up between 
the two hills and caught sight of the open plain, there was 


310 


THE SPLIT TRAIL. 


nothing to cheer or pilot them on'their way. The storm 
had obliterated every track left by the lancers, long since 
departed from the spot. Two days — full two days’ start of 
them ; slight chance of their being overtaken. Perhaps 
they could not even be trailed! If not, they might as 
well have remained in the valley, or go back to it. 

Their course now seemed only guess-work ; and it would 
have been so to any other than prairie men or rangers. 
For these there were still guides, and they knew it. Not 
compass or chronometer, but guides to them equally re- 
liable— the sun, the stars, the plants of the desert, and 
their own knowledge of how to read them. True, these 
would only give them the direction which the pursued 
party had taken, and the twice-traitor, Manuel, Lad already 
told them of that. It was due west, within a paint or 
two; and westwaid they went. 

For the first ten or fifteen miles there could not be 
trouble. Hamersley and Walt knew the route by which 
the troop had approached the portals of the valley. It was 
natural to suppose they would return on the same path. 
No trace could be discovered, either of their coming, or 
going. Anyhow, there would not be much on the hard, 
sun-baked surface of the Staked Plain ; but such as had 
been were now gone, obliterated by the dust and rain. 

It mattered not for a time. The grove of stunted oaks 
came in sight— a landmark so far reliable. Headed by 
Walt and Hamersley, the rangers made direct for it. It 
was a ride of over ten miles, and would be a suitable 


THE SPLIT TRAIL. 


311 

place for a short stoppage — long enough for the smoking 
of a pipe, and to swallow a morsel of their cooked deer- 
meat by those who were hungry. 

On arriving at the spot their uncertainty was at an end. 
Fires, long since cold, the remains of food scattered over 
the ground, scraps which the ants had not yet eaten up, 
and other odds and ends, told them the lancer troop had 
staid there during the storm. 

Thenceforward the trail was a clear one — all the more 
from the damp surface softened by the rain. Beyond, they 
followed it with no more difficulty than if they had been 
riding along a turnpike road. 

It led them to the Pecos — the point now well known 
from having been forded by more than- one of the recon- 
noitering parties sent out by the government of the United 
States. Then it had only been crossed by Mexicans and 
Indians. It was the crossing-place of the old Spanish 
military-road between Santa Fe and San Antonio, 'lexas — 
the same whose far-spread finger-posts gave to the sterile 
tract adjoining the name by which it is now known; 

The Texans waded their horses across the stream, and 
spurred out upon the western bank. Up to this point it 
was all plain sailing, and they had not needed to delay a 
moment in taking up the trail. They were cheered by 
finding it fresher as they advanced, for they were traveling 
at a more rapid rate than the troop of lancers. These 
had not gone so very slow, for their leader had a motive 
for making time. But not one so pressing as ihat which 


312 


THE SPLIT TRAIL. 


agitated the breasts of the pursuers. On the western bank 
of the Pecos these were brought to a stand, and for some 
time kept in a state of perplexity. The sign was no longer 
so legible. On the contrary, it was obscure, and taxed 
the oldest and most experienced trackers to read it. The 
trail forked, becoming two instead of one. The troop had 
here divided, one portion of it continuing on to the west, 
the other striking in a north-westerly direction up the 
bank of the stream. That tending westward showed a 
majority of tracks. The foot-prints on the up-river trail 
were few — not over a dozen. 

What could have been the cause of the separation ? 

No one could tell — not even the brown-skinned traitor, 
with a pistol once more held to his head. 

The separation of the troop, however, was not the im- 
portant question. It was of far more significance to 
know with which division had gone its chief and the 
captives. 

Like two old beagles on a lost scent when the young 
dogs have been thrown off. Cully and Walt Wilder were 
examining the ground some distance ahead. Soon the 
latter gave tongue. 

“ Hyar, Frank! hyar’s the track o’ yur ole Kaintuck, 
an’ we know he war rid by the skunk o’ a kuunel. An’ 
hyar’s the yeller mustang as carried yur gurl — the say- 
norata. I ked swar to it ’mong a thousand. Them as we 
wants goed this way, sartin sure.” 

The captain. Cully, and others of prominent position in 


THE SPLIT TRAIL, 


313 

the band of Texas Rangers, bent over the sign to which 
Walt had drawn their attention. 

They gave it but slight examination, for they could trust 
to their old comrade, and knew he had read it correctly. 
It would have pleased them better if the lancer troop had 
kept together. 

Then they might have had a fight, a grander conflict, 
and more glory in the conquest. To pursue the smaller 
party was like chasing a rabbit, instead of a panther or 
bear. It would be but a poor satisfaction to strike down 
a half-score of hated foemen instead of fifty. 

They even talked of themselves separating into two 
parties and following up the forked trail. But the prudent 
Captain Haynes would not hear of it ; and backed by the 
pleading of the young Kentuckian, still more by an appeal 
from their old associate. Wilder, they became once more 
of one mind, and all found their faces in the same direc- 
tion, north-west along the bank of the Pecos. 


A SYLVAN- SCENE. 


3H 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

A SYLVAN SCENE. 

On the banks of a small stream, having its source in the 
Sierra Blanca, and running eastwardly toward the Pecos, 
two tents are standing. One of them is an ordinary single- 
pole soldier's tent, the other an oval-shaped marquee. 

Inside the latter are two feminine forms— a lady and 
one who appears to be her waiting-maid. The other is 
occupied by two officers in the uniform of Mexican Lan- 
cers, very similar to that worn by the French. Some half- 
score lancers are loitering near, one of them standing 
beside two men who lie prostrate under a tree, their feet 
fast bound and hands tied behind their backs, proclaiming 
them to be prisoners. 

The reader will recognize the party as that of Colonel 
Gil Uraga and his captives, his troop diminished to ten 
men, the rest having separated from him on the Pecos 
River, at a point fifty miles below, and, by his command, 
gone direct on to the Del Norte. He is on a route lead- 
ing north-westward to Santa Fe, the capital of the State, 
whither he intends taking his prisoners, in order that they 
shall be tried by the chief military court of the department. 
This, at least, was the story told to his subaltern officer, 
when ordering him to take the troop west to Albuquerque. 


A SYLVAN SCENE. 


315 


The tents are not pitched near any road. The old San 
Antonio trail passes about two miles below ; never used by 
white men since Texas became independent, and only 
traversed by Indians — Apaches and Comanches. 

Uraga was upon it after crossing the Pecos, but he has 
left it for the valley of the stream, where we now find him 
encamped. 

Had sylvan beauty influenced him in selecting the site 
of his encampment, he could not in all the wide West 
have found a more perfect spot. A soft landscape, dotted 
with groves of the lovely alamo trees, that reflected their 
verdure in the stream, iilently stealing beneath their 
shadows, here and there flashing into the open light, and 
like a thread of silver extending across glades green with 
the beautiful gramma-grass. A landscape, not all wood- 
land and mead, but with a mountain aspect as well, for 
the scarred sandstone cliffs that bounded the valley bottom 
rose high ipto the heavens, and less than a quarter of a 
mile apart, appeared like grim, giant warriors ready to 
begin battle, while the tall stems of the cactus projecting 
above represented their spears. 

' It was a scene at once soft and sublime, a garden of 
Paradise, fenced in by a high parapet wall of roughest 
rock-work, below sweetly smiling, above darkly frowning, 
and weirdly picturesque. 

A wilderness scene as well, with all its charms, unin- 
habited, no house in sight, no domestic hearth or chim- 


3i6 


A SYLVAN SCENE. 


ney near, no smoke save that curling up from the fire, late 
kindled in the lancer’s camp. 

Beasts and birds its only denizens; its meadow-like 
openings the range of the antelope and the black-tailed 
deer ; its shaggy blufis the abode of the grizzly bear ; its 
groves musical with birds of bright plumage, while soaring 
above or perched on prominent points of the cliff, the 
buzzard and the white-headed ea gle. / 

In one of the pleasantest and most picturesque spots of 
this river valley Uraga had pitched his tents, an open tract 
of about six acres in extent, and nearly circular in shape, 
lying within the embrace of an umbrageous wood, the 
trees being cotton-wood of the largest dimensions ; through 
its midst the streamlet meandered, above issuing from the 
wood and below becoming lost in it. 

On one side the cliffs could be seen rising darkly above 
the tree-tops, and in the concavity of the opening on this 
side the tents had been erected, close in to the woodedge, 
though a considerable distance apart from each other. 

The horses, tied upon their trail-ropes, were browsing 
upon the bank of the stream, and above, upon a project- 
ing promontory of the bluff, a flock of buzzards were 
sunning themselves with outspread wings, now and then 
uttering an ominous croak, as they craned their necks 
outward and looked down upon the encampment below. 

It was with no eye to scenic beauty that Uraga had 
chosen this spot for a camping-place. On the contrary, 
for a purpose so atrocious that no one could give credit to 


A SYLVAN- SCENE. 


317 


it — that is, no one unacquainted with the frontier military- 
life of Northern Mexico as it has been in days past — in the 
days of the Dictator, Santa Anna, and his New Mexican 
imitator, Armigo. 

This purpose could be gleaned from a conversation be- 
tween Uraga and his adjutant, inside their tent, some hours 
after it had been pitched. 

But, before marring the fair scene we have painted, by 
the dark scheme then and there disclosed, let us seek 
gentler society in the marquee set apart for Adela Miranda 
and her maid. 

It is scarcely necessary’ to say that a change was observ- 
able in the senorita. Her dress, stained with travel, 
exhibiting souvenirs of the dust-storm and the rain ; her 
hair escaped from its coil, hanging half-disheveled; her 
cheeks showing the lily, where a rose had habitually 
bloomed. More than disheveled, she was sad, drooping, 
despondent. 

The maid seemed to have suffered less from her cap- 
tivity ; but this might be from having less to afflict her — 
no dread of a terrible sacrifice, such as sat like an incubus 
upon the spirits of her mistress. Conchita had become 
the comforter. 

‘ ‘ Don’t grieve so, senorita, ” she said ; ‘ ‘ I’m sure it will 
all be right yet; Something whispers to me it will. I heard 
one of the soldiers say they were taking us to Santa Fe, 
and that Don Valerian is to be tried by a court-martial, I 
think he called it. Well, what of it? You know he hasn’t 


A SYLVAN SCENE. 


318 

done anything for which they could condemn him to death, 
unless they downright murder him, and they dare not do 
that, tyrants as they are. ” 

At the words “murder him” the senorita started. It 
was this thought that was making her so sad. 

Too well she knew the man into whose hands her 
brother had again fallen. She remembered the event 
before, so near succeeding, and only frustrated by that 
hurried flight which had made them homeless. Was it 
likely the fiend would be contented to take her brother 
back now, and trust to the decision of a legal tribunal, 
civil or military? She could not believe it, and shuddered 
as she reflected upon it. 

“Besides,” continued Conchita, pursuing her consola- 
toiy' strain, “Don Francisco and my brave Walter have 
gone before us. They will be in New Mexico when we get 
there, and will be sure to hear of our arrival. Don’t you 
think, senorita, they can do something for Don Valerian ?” 

“No, no!” despondingly answered Adela; “not for my 
brother. That is beyond their power, even if poor Vale- 
rian should ever reach Santa Fe. I fear he never will 

perhaps none of us.” 

“The saints preserve us I What do you mean, senorita? 
Surely these men would not murder us?” 

“They are capable of doing that, or anything else. Ah ! 
Conchita, you cannot know all. I am in as much danger 
as my brother, for I shall choose death sooner than ” 

She hesitated to speak the word. 


A SYLVAN SCENE, 


319 


“Oh, senorita, if you have to die, so will I! Dear 
mistress, I am ready to die with you !” 

Adela, deeply affected by this proffer of devotion, flung 
her white arms around the neck of the brown-skinned 
maiden, and imprinted upon her brow a kiss of heartfelt 
gratitude. 

The tender scene was cut short by the incoming of 
Uraga; or, rather, by the appearance of his hated face, 
protruding into the entrance of the tent. 

“Is there anything I can do for the senorita.?” he 
asked, speaking in a tone of mock humility; “anything 
she could eat or drink, which our poor camp fare may 
provide for her.?” 

“No, senor,” was the quick response, somewhat de- 
fiantly spoken. “I am neither hungry nor thirsty. If 
you have food or drink to spare, you will do me a greater 
gratification by giving them to your prisoners. I think 
they stand more in need of them.” 

“In that the senorita is mistaken. My prisoners — I am 
sorry that duty requires me to call them so— have been 
amply served all along the route of our somewhat rough 
journey. Though compelled to carry them in bonds, that 
may not be agreeable to them, I shall take care, senorita, 
that no act of inhumanity be shown them. Our journey 
will soon be at an end, and then it is hoped they will have 
a better time of it.” 

As the ruffian said this, a grin truly diabolical sat upon 
his features. It was as well that she to whom the speech 


320 


A SYLVAN SCENE. 


was addressed did not perceive it, else she might have 
drawn from it suspicions of dread significance. With her 
long, dark lashes down during the whole conversation, she 
seemed to decline looking upon the face of the man she 
so thoroughly detested. 

Seeing there was nothing to be gained by further false 
proffers of gallantry, he withdrew, and strode back to the 
tent, as he passed the interval between biting his lips with 
chagrin, and muttering threats that were soon after com- 
municated to the ears of the adjutant — companion of his 
crimes and part sharer in his plunderings. 


A FIENDISH SCHEME, 


321 


CHAPTER L. 

A FIENDISH SCHEME. 

To understand the exact situation in which Urago stood 
to his captives, some words of explanation may be neces- 
sary. 

The reader already knows of his hatred for Don Valerian 
Miranda, and his love — if such love as his deserves the 
name — for Don Valerian s sister. It was, at all events, a 
passion deep and absorbing, and perhaps would of itself 
have led to the dark deeds already committed by him and 
the atrocious schemes he had conceived. 

But in addition to his love — low as it was — another and 
still lower passion was inspiring him — cupidity. The large 
estate held by Colonel Miranda previous to the revolution 
that had made him a refugee, was not yet confiscated. 
The new authorities hesitated to do this on account of the 
danger of a measure so high-handed It required a cer- 
tain judicial formality, leading to long delay ; for even in 
Mexico each new dictator has to deal delicately at first, 
until he feels himself fairly established in despotic sway. 

And even if the hacienda of the patriot colonel should 
be ultimately condemned to confiscation, only one-half of 
it would be forfeited to the State. The other mostly was 


322 


A FIENDISH SCHEME. 


the property of his sister, left to her by will, and this could 
not be legally touched. Adela Miranda would be rich, 
even if her brother was reduced to pauperism or con- 
demned to death. Uraga knew all this, and in addition 
to his other desire, it formed a powerful incentive to his 
wishing her for a wife. Although he was living in the 
house where she and her brother had been born, and from 
which he had been himself so instrumental in expelling 
them, he was there only as a lodger. He wanted to be 
the owner, not only of the mansion itself, but of the broad 
acres that surrounded it — on every side stretching for 
leagues. This had been, and still was, the ambition of 
his life. He had still but a dim idea of how it was to be 
realized. Notwithstanding a good deal of low cunning, 
his brain was but that of a brute — too dull to see beyond 
the act of the hour. His reasoning extended no further, 
else would he have understood that the course he had 
resolved upon pursuing could not possibly accomplish his 
purpose, unless backed by still further acts of atrocity and 
violence. He believed that if Miranda were once out of 
the way, he would be able to overcome the obstacles that 
separated him from the sistef; that left unprotected, she 
would yield to his solicitations, he himself approaching 
her in the full plenitude of power which he now enjoyed. 

This had been his scheme when he intended to have 
the patriot colonel taken surreptitiously from the prison 
and dispatched among the defiles of the mountains. He 
would himself have taken the life of Valerian Miranda — 


A FIENDISH SCHEME. 


323 


assassinated him without thought of remorse — could he 
have been certain of doing it undiscovered or without 
danger. No opportunity had as yet offered, even while 
making him a prisoner for the second time. Lawless as 
were the deeds of the Mexican soldiery, there was still 
some shame left — or at least a trace of responsibility. But 
for this, Miranda would not now have been lying bound 
under the shade of a cotton-wood tree. He would have 
been sleeping in the cold grave. 

He might still have been supposed near it by any one 
who could have overheard the conversation that occurred 
between Uraga and his adjutant, as the former came an- 
grily into his tent. 

“How long are we to remain here?” was the question 
asked by Roblez. 

“That is an interrogatory not so easily answered. It 
depends 

“On what, senor colonel?’^ 

“Oh, on many things — events, incidents, and circum- 
stances. You would like to know them, comrade?” 

“lam all anxiety, colonel.” 

“Very well, adjutant, you shall. But you must give 
me leave first to take a drink of wine, and then to light 
a cigar. The interview Tve had with the senorita, short 
as it was, has made me thirsty, and will require a little 
tobacco-smoke to neutralize the intoxicating perfume of 
her presence, still clinging around me. ” 

After this clumsy attempt at a jest, Uraga poured out 


324 


A FIENDISH SCHEME. 


some liquor from his canteen-flask, drank it off, and then, 
lighting his cigarette, proceeded with the promised ex- 
planation. 

‘ ‘ I spoke of events, incidents, and circumstances, didn't 
I, Roblez?" 

'‘You did, colonel.” 

“Well, suppose I clump them all together, and give you 
the story in a simple narrative — a monologue? I know, 
friend Roblez, you're not a man much given to speech, so 
that will save you the necessity of opening your mouth till 
I've got through. '' 

Roblez, who was rather a silent sort of scoundrel, 
nodded assent to this proposition. 

“ I've already told you plain enough,” continued Uraga, 
“that I have no intention of taking Valerian Miranda or 
the old quack of a doctor to the Del Norte. I don't care a 
fig about the life of the latter, but it is expedient he should 
die to save exposure He knows too much of past events, 
as you yourself are aware. Both must die. Of course I 
don't intend killing them myself ; nor yet can it be done 
by my men, though the cut-throats would be ready enough 
if I but gave them the hint. That, too, might lead to 
scandal, and bring disgrace. To avoid both, I've engaged 
an executioner, who will do the job without taking direct 
orders from me. ” 

“Who?” asked Roblez, forgetting his promise to be 
silent. 

“Don't interrupt, and I shall tell you the whole story. 


A FIENDISH SCHEME. 


325 

It will interest you ; and when you have heard it, I ven- 
ture to say you will give me credit for strategy, as you 
have done before now.” 

The subordinate simply nodded in the affirmative. 

“Of course,” Uraga continued, in a tone of serio- 
comicality, “you have heard of a copper-colored gentle- 
man called the Horned Lizard. If I mistake not, you 
have the honor of his acquaintance; and if I mistake not 
still further, you will see him here during the course of 
the evening, or at all events, at an early hour to-morrow 
morning. He will make his appearance in a somewhat 
eccentric fashion. No doubt he will come up to the camp 
at a charging gallop, some fifty or a hundred of his painted 
warriors along with him ; and I shouldn’t wonder if they 
should spit our poor lancers on the points of their spears. 
That will depend on whether our valiant followers are 
foolish enough to make resistance. I don’t think they 
will ; and more likely we shall see them gallop off, or go 
skulking into these cotton-woods, at the first whoop of the 
savage assailants. You and I, Roblez, will have to do 
the same ; but, as gallant gentlemen, we can’t do less than 
take the ladies with us. To leave them to the mercy of 
the savages without making an effort to save them, would 
be accounted absolute poltroonery. It would never do to 
be told in the settlements, therefore we must do our best 
to take them along. Of course we cannot be blamed for 
not being able to save our prisoners ; and their fate, I very 
much fear, will be to have half a dozen Comanche spears 


326 


A FIENDISH SCHEME. 


thrust through their bodies. It’s sad to think of it ; but 
these things cannot always be avoided. They are but the 
ordinary incidents of life on this disturbed frontier. Now, 
adjutant, I suppose you understand me?” 

“Since I am at length permitted to speak, I would say 
that I do — at least I have an obscure comprehension of it. 
Your story, colonel, freely translated, means this : You 
have arranged with the Hcrned Lizard to make a counter- 
feit attack upon our camp ; to shoot down or spear our 
half-score poor devils of lancers, if need be ” 

“There won’t be any need. They’ll run like good 
fellows at the first yell of the Indians. Don’t be uneasy 
about them.” 

“In any case, the Horned Lizard is to kill our two 
prisoners, and so take the scandal of their assassination 
off your hands. If I understand aught, that is the pro- 
gramme.” 

“It is.” 


AWAITING THE ASSASSINS. 


327 


CHAPTER LI. 

AWAITING THE ASSASSINS. 

In order to carry through his diabolical scheme with the 
most perfect convenience, and without risk of miscarriage, 
Uraga had takan certain precautions in the selection of his 
camp, as also in its arrangement. The prisoners were 
kept apart, and at a good distance from the tent appro- 
priated to the women, while the other tent was between. 

The horses of the troopers were picketed at some dis- 
tance off on the meadow, while those of Uraga and 
Roblez, along with Lolita and the mule that gave trans- 
port to Conchita, were tied to the trees, a little to the rear 
of the marquee tent. All were under the saddle, with 
slip-halters on, the bits taken off to enable them to 
browse. 

Some three hundred yards down the stream, a single 
lancer had been posted to act as a picket-guard. His 
orders were at once to gallop in and give warning should 
any one be seen coming up the valley. There was no 
sentry stationed on the opposite side. Uraga did not deem 
it necessaiy. He had said nothing to the soldiers as to 
how long they were to be halted, only to keep their horses 
under the saddle, and themselves in readiness at any mo- 


328 AWAITING THE ASSASSINS, 

ment to bridle and mount them. He knew not himself 
how soon this order would be issued. 

His design was, the moment the picket sent came in to 
report the approach of the savages, to create by his own 
action and that of his adjutant a stampede of their little 
party, and as the Indian yells would be heard shortly after, 
there would be just time for the lancers to rush to their 
horses and ride off. In their hasty retreat they would not 
trouble themselves about the brace of bound prisoners 
lying under the trees. He knew his poltroon cut-throats 
well enough for that For himself and Roblez it would 
be gallantry enough to save the women, by carrying them 
both to their saddles and taking them along in the flight. 
The Indian damsel they did not care for, and perhaps 
would have left her to care for herself But, as their 
escape would be easy, and the savages would not pursue 
them very hotly or very far, Conchita would be but a slight 
incumbrance. 

It was certainly an original way to get rid of an enemy, 
without being called to account for his assassination — a 
conception cunning as atrocious. But in the social history 
of Mexico such chapters are not so uncommon. 

Meanwhile, the two prisoners, lying side by side, could 
communicate with each other, though not without every 
word being heard by the sentry who stood over them. 
Had not both received a classic education, no secret could 
"have passed between them. This, however, enabled them 
to talk without being understood — in Latin. It was prob- 


AWAITING THE ASSASSINS. 


329 


ably the first time Miranda had ever found the dead 
language of any service to him, though Don Prospero may 
have before obtained advantage from it in his philosophical 
studies. 

No ancient Roman ever used it to give expression to 
gloomier thoughts, for in the minds of both were the most 
fearful forebodings. Too well they remembered the plot, 
overheard by Don Prospero, when Miranda lay wounded 
within the prison cell. It was but natural they should be 
apprehensive of a similar cruel intention. They knew 
that their fiendish captor was capable of the darkest deeds 
in the calendar of crime. 

It seemed strange his having divided his troop, sending 
the larger portion of it on to Albuquerque. They had 
heard from their guards that they were being carried to 
Santa Fe, there to be tried. It would have been pleasant 
for them to believe this. They could not. There was 
mystery, too, in Uraga’s movements about the camp ; they 
could see him now and then as he passed out of his tent, 
and hear him in muttered conversation with his fellow- 
ruffian, Roblez. Once, as he was seen to enter and stay 
sometime within the marquee, Miranda’s heart was torn 
with wild thoughts — fears for the safety of his sister. 

He was not allowed to hold communication with her, 
nor she with him. This had been interdicted all along 
the route, since leaving the Lone Ranch. Even mes- 
sages were prohibited from passing between them. Every- 


JJQ awaiting the assassins. 

t^ing relating to one another was doubt in the minds of 
both — a very anguish of suspense. 

From the glimpse now and then got of him the prison- 
ers could see that there was something unusual in the 
demeanor of Uraga. He moved uneasily into and out of 
his tent, and once passed out from the camp in the direc- 
tion of where the picket had been placed. He was absent 
for a considerable interval. As he came back his coun- 
tenance expressed disappointment, as if he had been 
expecting some one who had not come to time. 

After awhile he again went forth, going down the valley 
as before, and also as before afoot. This time he went 
some distance beyond the point where the lancer had been 
ordered to stand guard. Some two hundred paces below, 
a spur of the cliff sloped down to the bank of the stream, 
there ending on an elevated bluff, the top of which was 
easily attained. Climbing up it, he bent his gaze eastward 
down the stream, where the timber, growing only in scat- 
tered clumps, gave him a view of the grass-covered plain 
spreading between. 

A man upon it could be seen more than a mile off; and 
shortly after one was seen at about this distance coming up 
the valley. He was mounted on a mule that appeared 
jaded by a long journey, from the way in which he was 
urging it forward. 

Evidently the rider was in more haste than the animal, 
his arms and legs being all four in motion, while the mule 
seemed with difficulty to drag one limb after the other. 


AWAITING THE ASSASSINS. 


331 


“That must be one of my messengers,” muttered 
Uraga, as the mule-rider first came in sight. “It is,” he 
continued, as the man drew near enough to be recog- 
nized; “it’s Jose. He appears to be alone. He is! 
What can be the reason ? Where’s Pedrillo ? What can 
it mean, I wonder.?” 

He was kept wondering until Jose rode up near the 
spot, and seeing his master, dismounted and approached 
him. 

In the messenger’s countenance there was the look of 
disappointment, and something more. There was a tale 
of woe, and the fear to tell it. 

“Where’s Pedrillo?” was the first question, put in a tone 
of impatience. 

“Oh, colonel,” said Jose, hat in hand and trembling in 
every joint, “Pedrillo — poor Pedrillo 1” 

“Well, poor Pedrillo — what has happened to him?” 

“Your excellency, I fear to tell you !” 

“Tell it, sirrah! And at once, or I’ll send a bullet 
through your stupid skull ! Out with it, whatever it is !” 

“Alas ! poor Pedrillo ! He’s drowned in the Pecos !” 

' ‘ Drowned ? Pedrillo drowned ?” 

“ Ah ! it is true, senor colonel ! Poor fellow !” 

“How did this happen, Jose?” 

“We were crossing the ford. The waters were swelled 
from a norther there had been out on the plains. The 
river was deep, and raged like a torrent. Pedrillo’s mule 
stumbled, and was swept off. It was as much as mine 


332 


AWAITING THE ASSASSINS. 


could do to keep her feet. I think Pedrillo must have 
got his feet entangled in the trappings, for I could see him 
struggling alongside, and clinging to the mule, till both 
went under. When they came to the surface again, they 
were drowned dead, and floated on without making a 
motion, except what the flood gave them, as their bodies 
were tossed about on the water. As I could do nothing, 
colonel, I hastened on to tell you what had happened. 
Poor Pedrillo !” 

A cloud darkened the brow of Uraga, though it had 
little to do with the death of Pedrillo, or compassion for 
his fate. This he scarcely thought of. His trouble was, 
as to whether there had been a miscarriage in the message 
of which the drowned man had been more especially the 
bearer. 

His next interrogatory, quickly put, was to be satisfied 
on this head. 

‘‘You reached the Comanche town.?” 

“We did. Pedrillo had a message for the chief, the 
Horned Lizard, and a letter for Sanchez. You know that, 
I suppose. Pedrillo told me so.” 

“Well, you saw him deliver the letter to Sanchez?” 

“We did not deliver it to Sanchez.” 

“To the Horned Lizard, then?” 

“To neither, your excellency. We could not.” 

“Could not? What do you mean, sirrah?” 

‘ ‘ They were not there to receive it. They are no lon| 
in this world, neither the Horned Lizard nor Sanch 


A WAITING THE ASSASSINS. 


333 


Oh, colonel, the Tenawas have met with a great misfor- 
tune. They have had a fight with a party of Texans. The 
chief is killed, Sanchez is killed, and nearly half of all 
the warriors. We found the tribe in mourning, the women 
all painted black, and their hair cut off, the men that 
escaped from the fight cowed and hiding in their lodges."’ 

A fierce exclamtion escaped from the lips of Uraga as he 
received this disclosure, while the cloud gathered darker 
on his brow. 

“But Pedrillo,” he inquired, after a pause, ‘^what did 
he say to them? He had a message, you know? Did he 
make it known to the warriors?” 

^‘He did, your excellency. They could not read the 
letter ; but he told them what it was about. They were to 
meet you here, he said. But they would not come — ^they 
were in too great distress at the death of their chief, and 
the terrible defeat they had received. They were in fear 
that the Texans would come on to their town, and were 
making preparations to leave when Pedrillo and myself 
came away. Poor Pedrillo !” 

As Uraga walked back to the camp, followed by the 
bearer of bad tidings, who led his tired mule tremblingly 
after, the cloud upon his brow seemed blacker than ever. 


334 


A SINGULAR DISPATCH 


CHAPTER LIL 

A SINGULAR DISPATCH. 

The rangers trailing the detached and smaller party of 
lancers up the bank of the Pecos, were making all the 
haste in their power, Hamersley and Walt Wilder every 
now and then saying a word to urge them on. 

In pursuit of such an enemy, the Texans needed no 
pressure. It was only the irrestrainable impatience of the 
two men, whose souls were tortured by the apprehension 
of some dark danger hovering over the heads of those 
dear to them. 

They found no difficulty in following the trail of the 
troopers and their captives. The soldiers’ horses were 
shod, and the late storm, sweeping over the plain and 
w'ashing it with its torrent of rain, had obliterated all old 
tracks, leaving a clear surface, on which the new hoof- 
prints were not only distinct, but conspicuous so much 
so, indeed, that the craft of Cully, Walt, and other skilled 
trackers, was not called into requisition, the rangers riding 
along the trail as fast as their animals could carry them. 

It was evident that the pursued party had taken no 
pains to blind or conceal it. Why should they? Uraga 
could have no thought or suspicion of being followed— 


certainly not of V'^ . r». ? . 

suers. He liad .i- i ; , ^r. ' ; ”j£e , 

with the two ! : ^he t ' 

not sooner o\ u ^ • -.v; - \ . 

to cause suspic; -n or s.L e i/ ::r > '. 

tained in the smirch for , - 

trifling accident V.rhaps i. ; t-^’ed ticm ni 

the valley. This was the likeliest solution/as he remem- 
bered Manuel having said something about the occasional 
stoppage caused by floods in his minute description of the 
topography of the valley. In all likelihood this was what 
hindered the corporal and his file from sooner rejoining 
their comrades. But they would easily get upon the track 
of the troop, and would be sure to follow the larger party 
on to Albuquerque. 

Had the lancer colonel while making these reflections 
but known the true state of the case — that his trio of 
troopers, instead of proceeding to Albuquerque, were at 
that moment suspended by their necks to the branches of 
a pecan tree — he would have been more cautious about 
the path on which he was himself proceeding, and taken 
some pains to avoid leaving a plain trail behind him. 

Along it the rangers rode rapidly, gratified to observe 
that it grew fresher and fresher as they advanced, for they 
were traveling twice as fast as they who had made it. 

All at once they were summoned to a stop by the sight 
what never fails to bring the most hurried travelers to 
t — the dead body of a man. It was lying on a sand- 


• 


• /GrZAI? DIZPATCH. 



: . j out m\r* > ^ river — tV"; T'ccos — where it 

jf 

^ ^ washer ^ liv: now subsiding 

. eshet due i''‘%he late tornado. Near by was the 


\ 


a mule, J posited in a similar manner. Both 


[igh when the iigeif came abreast 


were c '•> nocuous vorei 


: : thr p i, but their -ttentinn b id been ‘hawn to them 
itwjg before by a dock of buzzards, some hovering above 
and some p^lighting near the corpse of the man and the 
carcass of the mule. 

Half a dozen of the rangers, heading their horses down 
the sloping bank, rode out upon the sandspit to give ex- 
amination to the “sign” — so sad, yet so terribly attractive. 
It would tempt scrutiny anywhere, but in the prairie wil- 
derness, on the dangerous desert, it might be the medium 
of guiding to a path of safety, or warning off from one 
that was perilous. 

While the half-dozen who had detached themselves pro- 
ceeded out upon the sand-bar, the main body of the 
rangers, remaining up on the high bank, awaited their 
return. 

Walt Wilder was among those who had gone out to ex- 
amine the corpse and carcass. The former was that of an 
Indian, but not of the savage tribes. His attire proclaimed 
him a Christianized aboriginal — one of those whom the 
Catholic padres, in their missionary zeal, have succeeded 
in winning from their wild, wicked ways. 

There were no marks of violence on the body of the 
man, nor on the mule. The case was clear at a glance. 


A SINGULAR DISPATCH. 


337 

It was one of drowning ; and the swollen stream, still foam- 
ing past, was evidence eloquent of how it happened. 

On the man’s body there were found no signs of rifling 
or robbery. His pockets, now turned inside out, yielded 
such contents as might be expected on the person of an 
Indian servant 

Only one thing that in the eyes of the examiners ap- 
peared out of place — a piece of paper, folded ‘n the form 
of a letter and sealed with wax. It was saturated with 
w'ater, and stained to the hue of the still turbulent stream. 
But the superscription could be read : 

“For Sanchez.” 

So much Cully and Walt could make out for themselves. 
On breaking open the seal and endeavoring to decipher 
what was written inside, they were at fault. They could 
not understand a word of it, for it was written in a lan- 
guage that was a sealed book to them. It was in Spanish. 

Without staying any longer to attempt translating it, 
Walt Wilder hastened back to the river-bank, bringing the 
letter with him. 

On regaining the rangers, he handed it to Hamersley, 
who first read and then translated it aloud. It ran as 
follows : 

“ Dear Sanchez : — As soon as you receive this, communicate its 
contents to the chief. Tell him I want him to meet me at the Alamo 
Creek — same place as before — and that he is to bring with him 
twenty or thirty of his painted devils ; the lesser number will be 
enough, as it isn’t an affair of fight or danger. Come yourself with 


338 


A SINGULAR DISPATCH. 


them. You will find me encamped with a small party, some women, 
and two male prisoners. No matter about the women. It’s the men 
you have to deal with, and this is what you are to do : 

“ Charge upon the camp the moment you get sight of it. Make 
the redskins shout like fiends, and ride right up, brandishing their 
spears. You won’t meet any resistance, nor find any one on the 
ground when you’ve got there — only our two prisoners, who will be 
fast bound, and cannot escape with us. What is to be done with 
them is the important part— in fact, the whole play, dear Sanchez. 
Tell the chief they are to be killed upon the spot— thrust through 
with your spears as soon as you get up. See to this yourself, lest 
there be any mischance, and I’ll take care you have your reward.” 

On hearing the contents of this vile epistle, the rage of 
the rangers, already sufficiently aroused, became almost 
boundless, and for awhile sought vent in the most fearful 
threats and asseverations. 

Though there was no name appended to this diabolical 
chapter of instructions, they could have no doubt as to 
who had been the writer. Circumstances, present and 
antecedent' pointed to the Mexican, Colonel Uraga — he of 
whom they were in pursuit. 

But who was Sanchez, the man to whom the letter was 
addressed, his name still legible on the outside ? 

A wild cry went up, almost simultaneously, from the 
whole troop, as they turned their faces toward the rene- 
gade, who, as a prisoner, was still with them. 

The wretch turned pale, as if the blood had been ab- 
ruptly drawn out of his veins. Without comprehending 
the exact import of that cry, he could read in forty pairs 


A SINGULAR DISPATCH. 


339 

of eyes, glaring angrily upon him, that his last hour had 
come. 

They had no doubt now as to whom the letter had been 
addressed, and they could tell why it had miscarried. In- 
deed the renegade had already declared his name, not 
thinking it would thus turn up to condemn him — to doom 
him ; for although he had been promised life, with the 
punishment of a prison, these conditions related to an- 
other criminality, and were granted without the full knowl- 
edge of his guilt — his connivance in crimes of unparalleled 
atrocity. 

His late judges felt themselves absolved from every stipu- 
lation of pardon or mercy; and summoning to the judg- 
ment seat the quicker and still more stern decreer. Lynch, 
in less ^than five minutes after the renegade was launched 
into eternity. 

There was reason for their haste. They knew that the 
letter had miscarried; but he who could have dictated 
such a damnable epistle was a tiger lei loose who could 
not be too soon destroyed. 


340 


A NEW DETERMINATION 


CHAPTER LIII. 

A NEW DETERMINATION. 

For the disaster that had occurred to the Tenawa 
Comanches, Colonel Gil Uraga did not care a fig, only 
so far as that by the death of the Horned Lizard he had 
lost an ally who might have been of service on some 
future occasion of robbery or retaliation. The same sort 
of sorrow he felt for his confederate Sanchez, though to a 
less degree, since the renegade had less power to assist 
him in his nefarious deeds. 

After all, it mattered not now so much. In his capacity 
of military chief of a district he had obtained a point of 
power — ill-gotten and arbitrary — that had rendered him to 
some extent independent of any secret or left-handed 
assistance. 

His greatest chagrin on getting the report of Jose was 
that t>ie Indian disaster had thwarted his present well- 
conceived plan of assassination, and, as he walked back 
toward camp, he was busy with his black thoughts — in 
search of some new scheme to effect this determined 
purpose. 

He could have murdered the two prisoners with his 
own hand, and without compunction he would have done 


A NEW DETERMINATION. 


341 


SO on the spot, and at that moment, but for the fear of 
tell-tale tongues, and the consequences that might accrue. 
Open assassination would certainly compromise him ; how 
was he to avoid this danger by giving a color to the deed } 

Perhaps his fellow-ruffian, Roblez, could suggest some 
way of getting over the difficulty, and on reaching the 
camp-ground he motioned the latter to follow him into 
his tent. 

‘ ‘ It’s all over, Roblez. The luck appears to be against 
us. ” 

“I see one of your messengers has returned, colonel; 
how about the other?” 

‘‘Pedrillo — poor devil! He will never return here or 
elsewhere. From what Jose has told me, he’s now on a 
voyage down the Pecos, along with the mule.” 

“I do not comprehend you, colonel.” 

“Pediillo is defunct. His animal stumbled with him 
while crossing the Pecos. There’s high water just now, 
and the flood swept both down stream, drowned dead. 
That’s the fate of Jose, but not the worst part of it.” 

“What is there worse?” 

“Our friend, the Horned Lizard, is also defunch-r-gone 
to his happy hunting-grounds, with about half his band 
of beauties. And they have taken Sanchez along with 
them.” 

“You astonish me I How has that happened I” 

“The Texans. They’ve had a fight with a party of these 
out on the plains, and got the worst of it. A bloody 


342 


A NEW DETERMINATION. 


encounter, that has thinned the tribe considerably -one- 
half, they told my messenger, who found them in mourn- 
ing and loud lamentations.” 

“Then they are not coming here?" 

“Of course not. That’s the worst of it. This bit of 
crooked work spoils all my plans ; and we are left to our 
own resources.” 

“What do you intend doing now.?” 

‘ ‘ I intend nothing as yet. This unexpected affair has 
frustrated all my plans, and leaves me without one. Can 
you think of any?” 

The adjutant remained silent for a moment, as if reflect- 
ing. He at length said, somewhat hastily : 

“Are you still determined on- ” 

“On what?” 

‘ ‘ The death of the prisoners ?” 

Uraga responded by pointing to the scar on his cheek, 
and then, with a still more diabolical expression of coun- 
tenance, nodding toward the tent that contained the 
women. 

Roblez understood the pantomime. 

“Now, more than ever, am I determined on it,” said 
the implacable fiend; “now that the other has escaped 
me. Though there is a chance to get hold of him yet. 
If he make but ten days’ stay on the boundary of New 
Mexico, ’tis all I shall ask. And that reminds me, we’ve 
not much time to waste here. I must make sure of 
Miranda while he’s in my power, and without much fur- 


A NEW DETERMINATION. 


343 


ther delay. Come, adjutant, quicken your thoughts, and 
help me to a plan !” 

Roblez, with a cigar between his teeth, again spent some 
time in seeming reflection. Whether it was that a spark 
of humanity yet lingered in his heart, or that he did not 
see the necessity of such a sacrifice, or that he appre- 
hended from it some future danger to himself— which of 
these, or whatever was the motive in his mind, he was 
evidently inclined to give counsel against the killing of the 
prisoners. 

^‘Uraga,'’ he said, at length, addressing his superior 
officer in a strain of friendly familiarity, I wish to speak 
plain with you. It is for your sake, and I hope you won't 
be offended. Do you give me permission to ask you a 
question ?" , 

“Ask it,” gruffly conceded the colonel. 

“You want the senorita for your wife?” 

The question drew from the colonel an exclamation, 
accompanied by a fierce grimace. But no verbal answer. 
He only nodded assent. 

“In that case, my friend,” said the adjutant, contin- 
uing the tone of familiarity, “it appears to me that the 
best way to accomplish your end would be to offer Miranda 
his life.” 

“How?” 

“Let him know that he is going to die, and shortly, or 
let him think it, which will serve all the same, that you 
and I have condemed him by court-martial, which in one 


344 


A NEW DETERMINATION. 


sense we have the power to do. Offer him his life in 
return for his consenting to your marriage with his sister. 

If he refuse, then tr>’ the effect of the same offer upon 
her. That's what / would do if I were in the same 
dilemma." 

“ Bah ! What would all that lead to? Supposing that 
by such means I obtain the consent of both, do you think 
they would adhere to it, even upon oath ? Once back to 
the Del Norte, with the world to witness such a deed, they 
would easily withdraw from it. You forget the old adage, 
adjutant : ‘ One man may take a horse to the water, but 

twenty can’t make him drink.”’ 

“In this case, colonel, it doesn’t apply, for you needn't 
take your horse to the water — at least, not so far as the 
Del Norte. You forget that in the village of Anton Chico, 
through which we have to pass, there’s a clergyman, who, 
for a couple of doubloons, will consummate the marriage, 
and wiftiout asking a question. You understand better 
now, colonel?’’ 

Uraga reflected. Roblez had put the thing in a new 
light. After all, what harm in letting Miranda live? It 
would be enough satisfaction to his vengeful spite if he 
could compel the betrothal of his sister, soon to be fol- 
lowed by the bridal. 

“Should he refuse — should both refuse — what then?’’ 

“You will be in no worse position than you are now, 
colonel. Then you can carry out your idea of the court- 


A NEW DETERMINATION. 


345 


martial. But there can be no harm in trying the other 
plan first. ” 

“I shall try it,” said Uraga, springing up from his camp- 
stool, and turning toward the entrance of the tent. “You 
are right, Roblez. It is a second string to the bow, and 
may be a better one. I shall try your plan at once. If it 
fail, before to-morrow’s sun shows over the cliffs the proud 
beauty will find herself brotherless !” 

Saying this, he strode out of the tent with an air that 
told of a determination to exact the dread promise, or in 
lieu of it decree the death of Don Valerian Miranda. 


346 


CONDITIONS OF FREEDOM. 


CHAPTER LIV. 

CONDITIONS OF FREEDOM. 

After stepping forth from the tent, Uraga paused to 
reflect. The plan suggested by Roblez seemed feasible 
enough. If he could but force the consent as proposed, 
it would not be difficult to get it sealed before anything 
could intervene to counteract it. But there were other 
points to be considered ere proceeding further with the 
affair. The lancer escort must not know too much. There 
were ten of them, all thorough cut-throats ; and, as such, 
having a fellow-feeling for their colonel and chief. Not 
one of them but had committed some crime, and more 
than one who had stained his soul with murder. This 
was nothing strange in a, regiment of Mexican soldiers — 
under the regime, of Santa Anna. It was not rare even 
among its officers. 

On parting with his troop, Uraga had selected his escort 
with an eye to chances and contingencies. Yet, although 
they would have been ready to yield obedience to him in 
any deed of blood, he did not desire them to penetrate the 
darkness of his motives. If ordered to shoot or hang the 
two prisoners, they would have obeyed him wifh the eager- 
ness of blood-hounds let loose from the leash, or wicked 


CONDITIONS OF FREEDOM. 


347 


boys permitted to indulge in some cruel sport. There 
could be no difficulty in having the prisoners executed, 
under the pretense of a condemnation by court-martial; 
or without, by a simple command from their chief. There- 
fore Uraga would not himself need to act directly as the 
assassin. No poniard or pistol would be required ; a vol- 
ley of carbines would do the deed, if not more effectually, 
at least more plausibly. 

There was the pretext of patriotism, with the punish- 
ment of treason to the State. This would be the pre- 
tended motive. It was only the real one Uraga cared to 
conceal from his escort. 

They must not overhear what was now planned between 
the colonel and his adjutant, as a preliminary of what 
might follow. Nor should they be within sight to suspect 
it. It was necessary they should be at a distance from the 
camp-ground. Leaving this was a matter of but slight 
difficulty to a skilled strategist like Gil Uraga. A plan at 
once presented itself. 

“Sergeant,” he called to the trooper with cheveroned 
sleeves, an immediate authority over the escort, “come 
hither. ” 

The sergeant soon stood before him, saltuting and 
silently waiting orders. 

“That Indian you see,” continued his colonel, pointing 
to Jose, who was but little known to the soldiers, “was on 
the way with a message to me, in company with another. 
In crossing the Pecos, his comrade was carried off by the 


CONDITIONS OF FREEDOM. 


348 

flood. He may or may not be drowned. In either case, 
go in search of him, and if you find his body, bring it. 
Jose will guide you to the place where he was last seen. 
You will ride down the bank of the river, though you need 
not go far — two or three miles will be far enough. If you 
don’t find any trace of him within that distance, then the 
poor fellow must certainly have sunk to the bottom, and 
it would be no use searching farther. Take all the men 
with you ; only leave Galvez, who is keeping guard over 
the4)risoners.” 

The lancers were soon in their saddles and riding away 
from the ground, the prisoners’ guard alone staying behind. 
Galvez, who being a familiar” with the colonel — more 
than once his participator in crime — could be trusted to 
overhear anything. 

This movement had not escaped the observation of the 
two men tied under the tree. They could not divine its 
meaning, but neither could they auger well of it. Still 
worse when Uraga, signing to the sentry to come to him 
apart, muttered some directions in his ear. 

It did not tranquillize their fears to know what this was. 
On the contrary, their apprehensions were increased when 
the trooper again returned to them, and unloosening the 
cord that bound the ankles of Don Prospero, raised him 
upon his feet, as if to remove him from the spot. 

On being asked by the prisoners what it was for, Galvez 
condescended to answer, saying, in a gruff voice, that he 
had orders to separate them, so that in the absence of the 


CONDITIONS OF FREEDOM. 


349 


Others his task in guarding them should be easier. It 
seemed a lame explanation, but no other was given, as 
Galvez, rudely taking hold of the doctor's arm, conducted 
him to a distance of two or three hundred yards, and once 
more laying him along the ground, stood over him in the 
attitude of a sentry. 

All this was mysterious and fear-inspiring, as much to 
Don Valerian, now left alone, as to Don Prospero, who 
had been taken apart. 

Miranda was not left long to his meditations. In a few 
seconds after, the place of his friend and fellow-captive 
was occupied by his captor and enemy. Gil Uraga stood 
beside him. 

There was a quick interchange of glances ; on the side 
of Miranda defiant, on that of Uraga triumphant, although 
the expression of triumph appeared to be held in check, 
as if to avert some event before showing itself in more 
savage demonstration. 

It was the first time Uraga had vouchsafed speech to his 
former commanding officer since making him a prisoner. 

‘‘Don Valerian Miranda,” he began, “you will, no 
doubt, be wondering why I have ordered your fellow- 
prisoner to be taken apart from you. It will be explained 
by my saying that I have some words for you I don’t wish 
overheard by any one— not even your dearest friend, Don 
Prospero. ” 

“What words, Gil Uraga?” 

“ I have a proposal to make to you.” 


350 


CONDITIONS OF FREEDOM. 


Miranda remained silent, awaiting it. 

“I may first tell you,” continued the ruffian, “though 
doubtless you know it already, that your life is in my 
power — that if I now put a pistol to your head and blow 
out your brains, there will be no calling to account. If 
there were any danger of it, it could be avoided by giving 
you the benefit of a court-martial. Your life is forfeit; 
and our military laws, as you are aware, can be stretched 
a little just now to meet your case.” 

am aware of it,” said Miranda, his patriotic spirit 
touched by the humiliating reflection. ‘ ‘ I know the des- 
potism that now rules can do anything, and would, with- 
out care either for law or constitution.” 

“Just so,” assented Uraga; “and for this reason I ap- 
proach you with my proposal.” 

“Speak it, then. I am your prisoner, powerless, and 
therefore cannot help listening. Speak it, senor, without 
further circumlocution.” 

“Since you command me to avoid circumlocution, I 
will obey you to the letter. My proposal is this : That in 
exchange for your life, which I have the power to take and 
also to save, you will give me your sister. ” 

Miranda writhed within his rawhide fastenings till the 
cords almost cut through the skin. Withal he was silent, 
his feelings being too intense to permit of speech. 

“Don’t mistake me, Don Valerian Miranda,” pursued 
his tormentor, in a tone intended to be soothing. “When 
I ask you to give me your sister, I mean it in .an honorable 


CONDITIONS OF FREEDOM. 


351 


sense. I wish her for my wife ; and, to save your life, she 
will consent to become so, if you only use your influence 
to that end. She would not be a faithful sister if she did 
not. I need not tell you that I love her — you know that 
already. Accept the conditions I offer, all will yet be well 
with you. I can even promise you the pardon of the State, 
for my influence in high places is very different from what 
it was when you knew me as your subordinate officer. It 
will enable me to do that.” 

Miranda still remained silent — long enough to arouse 
the impatience of him who dictated, and tempt the threat 
already designed as an alternative. 

“Refuse,” he said, his brow suddenly clouding, while a 
gleam of sinister significance flashed out from his eyes, 
“and you see not another sun. By that now shining you 
may take your last look at the earth, for this night will 
certainly be your last upon it. You see the buzzards on 
the cliff? They are whetting their beaks as if expecting a 
banquet. They shall have one, and it will be on your 
body, if you refuse what I have offered. Accept them, or 
before to-morrow’s sun reaches meridian the vultures will 
be feeding upon your flesh and the coyotes quarreling over 
your bones. Answer me, and without faltering of speech. 
Let it be plain, Don Valerian Miranda — a yes or no.” 

“ No!’' was the word shouted, almost shrieked out, by 
the man thus menaced. “ No, ” he repeated ; ‘ ‘ never shall 
I consent to that. I am in your power, Gil Uraga. Put 
your pistol to my head and blow out my brains, as you 


352 


CONDITIONS OF FREEDOM, 


have hinted ; hang me to one of the branches above ; give 
me any kind of death — torture, if it please you. It could 
not be such torture as to see you the husband of my sister. 
I shall at least be spared that. You cannot force my con- 
sent, nor gain hers, upon such disgraceful conditions. My 
noble Adelal I know she will rather see me die — die 
along with me. ” 

‘ ‘ Ha, ha !” responded Uraga, in a peal of mocking 
laughter, in which could be detected a trace of chagrin. 
“ We shall see about that. Women are not so superbly 
stupid; they have a keener comprehension of their own 
interests. Surely I mean no harm to the Senorita Adela. 
On the contrary, it is an honor I am offering her. Per- 
haps she may not so disdainfully reject it as you have 
done, Don Valerian. However, we shall soon see.” 

Saying this, Uraga turned upon his heel and walked off, 
leaving the chafed captive writhing within his ropes. 


A SISTER SORELY TRIED. 


353 


CHAPTER LV. 

A SISTER SORELY TRIED. 

The marquee that gave shelter to Adela Miranda and 
her maid was not visible from the spot where the prisoners 
had been placed. The other tent stood between, and some 
shrubbery further concealed it. But, from the tenor of his 
last speech, Miranda guessed that Uraga had gone thither, 
and could also guess at his intentions. 

He was right in both conjectures, for the ruffian, 
chagrined by the denial he had received from the brother, 
and impatient of delay, was determined on having an 
answer from the sister, point-blank and upon the instant. 

He entered the lady’s tent. Once inside, he muttered a 
direction, or, rather, request, for Conchita to withdraw. 
He did this with as much grace as the excited state of his 
feelings enabled him to command, excusing the act by 
saying that he wished a word with the senorita alone — one 
he was sure she would not wish to be heard by other ears 
than her own. 

Roused from her despondent attitude, she looked up, 
her large, round eyes expressing surprise, anger, appre- 
hension. 

The maid, disinclined to obey the request, looked 


354 


A SISTER SORELY TRIED. 


toward her mistress for a sign of instruction. The latter 
hesitated to give it. Only for an instant. It could serve 
no purpose to gainsay the wish of one who had full power 
to enforce it, and whose demeanor showed him determined 
on doing so. 

Vou can go, Conchita,’’ said the young lady. ''I 
shall call you when you are wanted. ” 

The girl went out with evident reluctance, and stopped 
not far from the tent. 

‘‘Now, sir,’' demanded the senorita, on being left alone 
with the intruder, “what have you to say to me that I 
should not wish her to hear.?” 

“I pray you, senorita, do not begin with me so 
brusquely. I approach you as a friend, though hitherto 
I may have approached you only in the character of an 
enemy. I hope, however, that in time you will give me 
credit for good intentions. I am sure you will, when you 
know how much I am distressed by the position I am 
placed in. It grieves me that my instructions from head- 
quarters compel me to adopt some harsh measures with 
my prisoners; but in truth, senorita, no discretion has 
been left me.” 

“Senor,” returned the lady, casting upon him a look 
of scornful incredulity, “you have said all this before. I 
thought you had something of more importance to com- 
municate to me.” 

“And so I have, senorita. But it is of so unpleasant a 
nature, I hesitate to give speech to it, ” 


A SISTER SORELY TRIED. 


355 


^‘You need not, sir. After what has passed, I am not 
likely to be nervous.” 

‘ ‘ Despite her courageous nature, and an effort to 
appear calm, her voice trembled as she spoke. There 
was an expression on the face of the man that boded some 
evil disclosure. 

The suspense, however, was too painful to be endured, 
and, in a tone still defiant, she made a further demand for 
the promised communication. 

“Senorita,” he said, speaking in grave, measured voice, 
like a doctor delivering a prognosis of death, ‘ ‘ it has been 
my duty to make your brother a prisoner — an unpleasant 
one, as I have said ; but alas ! the part already performed 
is nothing compared with what is now required of me. 
You say you are prepared for a shock. I am glad of it, 
senorita, for what I am going to say will cause you one. ” 

She no longer attempted to conceal the look of alarm, 
now discernable in her large, wondering eyes. 

“Say it!” were the words that, fell mechanically from 
her lips, as if forced from her by the intensity of her 
apprehension. 

“You are soon to be without a brother.” 

“What mean you. Colonel Uraga?” 

“Don Valerian dies within the hour!” 

“You are jesting, sir! My brother has not been sick. 
He is not ^\ounded. Why should he die.? Oh, senor, 
do not torture me thus ! Unsay your words, or give an 
explanation of them !” 


356 


A SISTER SORELY TRIED. 


She spoke hurriedly, and with an incredulous stare at 
Uraga, while at the same time her hand, pressing upon 
her bosom, told that she, too, truly believed what he had 
said. 

“Don Valerian is not sick,” continued the unfeeling 
ruffian, “nor yet has he received any wound. For all this, 
in less than an hour he must die. It has been decreed. ” 

“Oh, merciful Virgin! You are mocking me, senor. 
His death decreed? By whom?” 

“Not by me, I assure you. The military authorities of 
the. country have been his judges, and condemned him 
long ago. They only waited for his capture to have the 
sentence carried out. This disagreeable duty has been 
intrusted to me, and I cannot disobey without losing my 
command, and, perhaps, risking my own life. My orders 
at starting were to bring the prisoners back to Santa Fe. 
But a messenger has just arrived — an Indian, you may 
have seen — with a dispatch from the governor, in which he 
orders their immediate execution. I am commanded to 
have both of them shot on the moment of receiving it. ” 

The tale was preposterous enough, and might have 
seemed to her what it was — a lie — but for the knowledge 
of many like cruel deeds in the history of her native land. 
Her own and her brother’s experience, at least, rendered 
it not improbable ; besides, from within her tent, she had 
seen the Indian Jose and his mule ride up to the camp- 
ground, both jaded as if coming from a journey. This 


A SISTER SORELY TRIED. 


357 


gave plausibility to that part about the bearer of a dispatch, 
almost confirming it. 

“God of my soul T' she cried out, in the anguish f 
conviction, “can this be true.?'’ 

“It is true !” 

‘ ‘ Oh ! senor, you will not carry out the cruel sentence? 
It is not an execution — it is an assassination. Colonel 
Uraga ! You will not stain your hands with murder.? 
You will not.? You must not !” 

‘ ‘ I must obey orders. ” 

“My poor brother I Mercy! Mercy! You can save 
him.? You will?” 

The emphasis with which these two words^were pro- 
nounced brought a quick flush of gratefulness over her 
face, and she made a forward movement, as if to thank 
him by a pressure of the hand. She might have given it, 
but for the expression upon his features, that told her the 
consent had not been fully given, or the speech finished. 
There was more to come — two other words. They were : 

Upon conditions!'’ 

It was a sad check to her bursting gratitude. Con- 
ditions ! She knew not what they might be. She might 
have some suspicion. But she knew Gil Uraga, and could 
tell they would be hard. 

“Name them, senor,” she said. “If it be money, 1 
will give it. Though my brother’s property is to be taken 


358 


A SISTER SORELY TRIED. 


from him — as weVe heard — not so mine. I have wealth, 
and will give anything to save dear Valerian’s life. ” 

All your wealth would not save him, senorita, but that 
will — that which would cost you nothing— your hand. ” 

*‘Senor !” 

‘‘Yes, senorita, your hand in holy wedlock. That is 
all that is asked. ” 

She started as if a serpent had stung her, for she now 
comprehended all — even for whom her hand was so 
strangely solicited — though she mechanically asked this 
question. 

“For one,” he answered, “who loves you with his 
whole soul — who has loved you for long, hopeless years — 
ay, senorita, ever since you were a schoolgirl, and he a 
rough, wild youth, the son of a ranchero, who dared only 
gaze upon you from a distance. He is a peasant no longer, 
but one who has wealth, one upon whom the State has 
bestowed honor and command, one worthy to choose a 
wife from among the proudest in the land. Senorita, be- 
hold him at your feet !” 

On saying this, Uraga dropped upon his knees before 
her and remained awaiting the response. 

It did not come. She seemed as if petrified, and 
deprived of the power of speech. Her silence gave him 
hope. 

“Senorita,” he continued, in an appealing tone, as if to 
strengthen the chances of an affirmative answer, “I will 
do everything to make you happy— everything a husband 


A SISTER SORELY TRIED. 


359 


can do. And remember your brother’s life. I shall be 
risking my own to save it. I have just seen him on the 
subject. He does not object, but, on the contrary, has 
given his consent. He knows his danger. ” 

“My brother has given his consent.?” she exclaimed, 
with a look of incredulity. “I must have it from his own 
lips ; I must see him. ” 

As she said this she sprang past the kneeling supplicant, 
and, before he could rise to his feet, or stretch forth an 
arm to detain her, she had glided out of the tent, and was 
hastening on to the spot where she supposed the prisoners 
to have been placed. 

With exclamations of anger and chagrin, Uraga went 
rushing after. His intention was to overtake and bring 
her back, even if he should have to drag or carry her. 

He was too late. Before he could lay hand upon her 
she had reached the spot where her brother lay bound, 
flung herself down by his side, and was holding him in 
her embrace, pressing her lips to his forehead, and moist- 
ening his cheek with her tears. 


360 


THE LAST APPEAL. 


CHAPTER LVI. 

THE LAST APPEAL. 

A change had taken place in the tableau under the tree. 
Where late were the two prisoners lying along the earth, 
with a soldier standing sentry over them, there was now 
only one, Don Valerian, with his weeping sister upon her 
knees by his side, and Uraga near by, his brow black and 
eyes shining like coals of fire. 

His first impulse was to call up the lancer, still keeping 
guard over Don Prospero at a distance, and order him to 
drag brother and sister apart. His next was to do it him- 
self, and he was on the move to carry out this design when 
a third thought restrained him. 

It was not humanity — there was not a spark of it in his 
bosom — but a hope suddenly conceived, that now the two 
were together, he might renew his base proposal with a 
better chance of having it entertained. He would reiterate 
his promise and redouble his threats. He did not need to 
be told that, in the short interval before his coming up, 
words had passed between brother and sister in low tones, 
but loud enough for each to be made aware of what had 
been said to the other. On perceiving that she had got 
beyond reach, and that there was no chance of preventing 


THE LAST APPEAL. 


361 


the interview, the pursuer had slackened his pace, and 
thus they had gained time to exchange thoughts with one 
another. It needed not much. Each was already more 
than half prepared for the disclosure the other had to 
make ; and Uraga, about to renew his proposal, could read 
refusal in the face of both. 

It did not daunt, only determined him to a form of 
menace firmer and more terrible. There was no one near 
enough to hear what would now be said — no one for whom 
he cared. The soldier and Don Prospero were far out upon 
the plain ; tkey might catch the distant murmur of words, 
but not make out their meaning. What mattered it if 
they did ? The trooper was trustworthy, and if things did 
not go well, his prisoner was doomed to death, and could 
not afterward tell tales. If they did go well, he would 
not, or his silence could be secured. 

Roblez was sitting silent in the tent, smoking a cigar, 
and perhaps listening, but otherwise taking no part in the 
action of the play. His overhearing did not signify to his 
associate in many a past crime ; and not much account 
was made of Conchita, who stood at a distance, trembling, 
afraid to approach under the angry frown of the grand 
colonel of lancers. 

“Don Valerian Miranda,'*” began Uraga, on recovering 
his composure, along with his breath, after the chase across 
the camp-ground, “I suppose your sister has told you 
what has passed between us.^ If not, I shall tell you 
myself. ” 


362 


THE LAST APPEAL, 


*‘My sister has communicated everything,” was the reply 
of Miranda, “even the falsehood by which you thought to 
fortify your vile proposal. ” 

“Vile proposal you call it!” rejoined the other, upon 
whose cheek appeared no blush of shame for the decep- 
tion he had practiced. “ Does the offer of saving your 
life, at risk of my own — rescuing you from a felon’s death 
— does this deserve the epithet with which you are pleased 
to qualify it? Come, 'Senor Miranda, you are wrcnging 
me, while trifling with your own interests — with your life, 
as you now know. I have been honest, and declared all. 
I love the senorita, your sister, as you have known long 
ago. What do I ask you .? What is this proposal you have 
termed vile? Only that she shall become my wife, and by 
so doing save the life of her brother. As my brother-in- 
law, it will be my duty, my interest, my pleasure to pro- 
tect you. I have the power to do so, and you need not 
fear. The governor owes me a pardon for service ren- 
dered — it shall be yours. ” 

Never!’’ exclaimed Miranda, with a swelling fervor 
that caused a stretching ot his cords — “never, on such 
conditions 1” 

“Does the senorita speak with the same determination.?” 
asked Uraga, fixing his eyes on Adela. 

It was a terrible ordeal for a sister. A brother lying 
bound by her side, his death decreed, his end near, the 
executioner standing over him — for in this light did Uraga 
appear— called upon to save him by promising to become 


THE LAST APPEAL. 


363 


the wife of this man — hideous in her eyes, detested as if 
he had been a common hangman — and knowing or be- 
lieving that if she did not, in another hour, perhaps less, 
she would be gazing upon a blood-stained corpse — the 
dead body of the only near kin-relative she had on earth — 
the only dear one except another, whom she now believed 
to be also in danger. 

No wonder she trembled from head to foot, and hesi- 
tated to indorse the negative so emphatically pronounced 
by her brother. 

He noticed her indecision, and again spoke, quickly, 
but firmly as before. 

‘ ‘ No, never ! Dear Adela, do not think of such a thing. 
Do not fear or falter, for I shall not. I would rather die 
a hundred deaths — by garrote or on the rack — than see 
you the wife of Gil Uraga. Ruffian I how dare you repeat 
your infamous proposal !” 

The man thus rudely defied, hissed out one of the vilest 
exclamations known to the Spanish tongue, dictated by his 
roused rage, and then added : “You shall die, then; and 
after that your sister shall still be my wife, without your 
seeing it — perhaps something still worse for her and you. '' 

The fearful meaning conveyed by the last words caused 
Miranda to raise his body half upright, at the same time 
giving a wrench to the ropes around his wrists. The 
sweat, forced from him by the agony of his soul, had al- 
ready moistened the rawhide thongs to stretching. They 
yielded to the convulsive effort, leaving his hands free. 


364 


THE LAST APPEAL. 


With a quick lurch forward, he caught at the sword 
dangling by Uraga’s side. Its hilt was in his hand, and 
in an instant he had drawn the blade from its scabbard. 

Seeing himself thus suddenly disarmed, the lancer 
colonel retreated, calling loudly for help to Roblez and 
the sentry that stood over Don Prospero. 

Miranda, with his ankles still • fast bound, could not 
follow him. With the sword-blade he hewed the thongs 
asunder. 

But the release came too late. Just as he had got fairly 
on his feet, the trampling of many hoofs was heard upon 
the grassy turf, and in another instant the returned lancers, 
with Roblez and the sentry, were around him. 

He stood side by side with Adela, surrounded by a circle 
of lancers, and behind these were others with cocked car- 
bines. 

There was no chance of escape — no alternative but sur- 
render. After that 

He did not stay to reflect. A wild thought flashed across 
his brain — a terrible determination. To carry it out only 
needed the consent of his sister. 

“Adela,” he said, looking into her eyes for it; “dear 
Adela, let us die together !” 

She saw the sword, resolutely held in his grasp, and that 
its point was not turned toward the assailants. She under- 
stood the appeal. 

“Yes, Valerian, yes!” came the quick response, with a 
look of despairing resignation, followed by the muttered 




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MIKANDA RALSED THE BLADE, TURNING ITS POINT TOWARD 

HIS SISTER. — [page 365.] 




THE LAST APPEAL. 


365 

speech: “Mother of God, take me to thy bosom I To 
thee I commit my soul !'' 

Miranda raised the blade, turning its point toward his 
sister. In another moment it would have been buried in 
her bosom, and afterward in his own — a fearful episode. 

It was not permitted to transpire, though the soldiers 
had no hand in hindering it. Dismayed or careless, they 
sat in their saddles, without thought of interfering. But 
between their files rushed a form in whose heart was more 
friendship and humanity. 

It was that of a girl — slight, dark-skinned, with light 
drapery floating behind her. The intruder was Conchita, 
opportune to an instant. 

Another second, and the fratricidal sword would have 
bereft her of a mistress, and then of a master — both be- 
loved. 

Both were saved by her interference — by her grasping 
the upraised arm and withholding the blade. Roblez, close 
following, assisted her, as also the dismounted lancer. 

Soon the intending sororicide and suicide was disarmed, 
and once more bound, now more securely than ever; 
while his intended sister-victim was conducted back to her 
tent, and placed under the guard of a trooper. 


366 


THE EXECUTION ORDERED, 


CHAPTER LVII. 

THE EXECUTION ORDERED. 

Exasperated almost to madness, Uraga re-entered his 
tent. He felt at the same time chagrin and shame ; the 
first for the failure of his plan, and the last at having been 
disarmed by a man who was his prisoner. All this in 
the presence of his followers, for the lancers had come up 
in time to witness his discomfiture. 

And now in his rage he determined to proceed at once 
to extremities ; the last alternative pointed out by Roblez 
in the disposal of his prisoner, then death. He only sum- 
moned his adjutant to the tent, to take counsel with him 
as to the mode. 

‘'You are resolved upon it?” was the interrogatory of 
Roblez, who merely put it as a matter of form. 

“That is an idle question after what has occurred. He 
shall die — they shall both die — within the hour !” 

“Well, colonel, the thing is not so difficult now. This 
brisk little bit of an interlude has been all in your favor. 
It gives pretext and color for their execution by court- 
martial, even though we two don’t quite constitute a 
quorum. The men have been witnesses of the mutiny, 
as we may call it, and won’t now talk of any secret motive 


THE EXECUTION ORDERED. 


367 


on your part. In fact, our fellows are themselves quite 
eager to have the business settled in that way. I believe 
they would have settled it when they first rode up, but for 
fear of harming the senorita in his arms. The rascals have 
some gallantry, especially where the lady is good-looking. 
Now that she’s out of their sight, they’ll be ready for any- 
thing you like, and won’t mind a little manslaughter. ” 

“ How should we do it.?” 

“Oh ! proceed in the regular legal way. We two shall 
try the prisoners. We are supposed to be doing it now, 
and, of course, condemn them to death, make known the 
sentence to the men, and direct the regular form of military 
execution, to be shot. I suppose you don’t particularly 
care to have them hanged .?” 

“No, no; it isn’t worth while wasting time. Shooting 
will do ; and I don’t want to waste much time about that. 
We must get back to the Del Norte, where I hope to find 
one more worthy of my vengeance ^ so, adjutant, tell the 
men what w’e have decreed, and let them be preparing. 
Send the sergeant here. I shall give him directions 
myself. ”■ 

Roblez went off to execute the orders, and soon after a 
non-commissioned officer appeared at the entrance of the 
tent. 

‘ Sergeant,” said his colonel, stepping out and facing 
toward the place where the prisoners were once more 
together under the tree, * ‘ there’s a little delicate business 
to be done, and you must assume the direction of it. Our 


368 


THE EXECUTION ORDERED. 


two prisoners are to be taken no further. We have held 
court upon them, and they are condemned to be shot. So 
direct the men to load their carbines and be ready. 

The sergeant simply gave a salute of assent. 

“Let all of them take part except Galvez, who is to 
keep guard over the women. Tell him to take care that 
neither gets out of the tent. Make sure that the flap is 
pulled down, so that they may not see what’s going on. 
Moreover, make no more stir or noise than may be neces- 
sary. Have the men drawn up in line. I shall give the 
word myself. ” /• 

“Where are the prisoners to be placed, colonel.?” 

“Ah! I did not think of that. Let me see.” 

Again turning his face toward the spot where the victims 
were lying, unconscious of the cruel destiny that was 
being prepared lor them, though perhaps not unsuspecting 
it, he ran his eyes along the edge of the wood. In that 
direction the trees stood thickly, their huge trunks scarcely 
distinguishable in the gloom, caused by a dense overhang- 
ing loliage, as well their own as that of numerous parasites 
that laced them together, forming an almost impenetrable 
festooning that struggled down among the tops of the 
bushes growing underneath. 

Advanced a little into the open ground, two trees stood 
side by side, conspicuously apart from the others. They 
were cotton-woods of the largest size, their smooth stems 
having a diameter of several feet, and clear of parasitical 
climbers. 


THE EXECUTION ORDERED. 369 

On these Uraga fixed his eyes, and for a second or two 
scanned them, as a lum»berman would scrutinize a log he 
intended for the saw-mill. 

The examination seemed to satisfy him, and, pointing 
them out to the sergeant, he said : 

‘ ‘ Place one against each of those trees, with his back..to 
the trunk, and facing the open ground. As they’ve been 
soldiers, we won’t disgrace the cloth by shooting them in 
the back. ” 

After a grim smile at his ironical jest, he added : 

“Bind them in an upright position which you can do 
by carrying thongs around the trunk. That done, place 
your platoon in front here, about ten paces off. When 
you’ve got your stage ready, come back to the tent and 
report. I’ll give the cue for the commencement of the 
play.” 

With another flash of demoniac glee, casting a strange 
lurid light over his countenance, he once more stepped 
inside his tent, while the sergeant went off to execute the 
grave orders that had been so flippantly given. 

Meanwhile the prisoners were a prey to fearful appre- 
hensions— Don Prospero, perhaps, more than his younger 
companion— for to Miranda, after the chapter of horrors 
just passed, death might have lost its terrors, and almost 
seemed a relief. He would have no longer regarded going 
out of the world, but for the thought of what might 
happen to her he must leave unprotected behind him. 
His saddest regret was that he had not been quicker in 


370 


THE EXECUTION ORDERED. 


handling that suicidal sword. Anothef moment, and his 
sister and himself would have been beyond the reach 
either of brutality or vengeance. He sighed as he thought 
of his failure to accomplish that dread, despairing purpose, 
almost cursing Conchita for her well-meant but what he 
deemed mistaken humanity. He could envy Collabinus, 
for Tarquin was still striding around, and there was no 
Brutus near. 

He groaned as he reflected on the picture, not his own, 
but that of his beloved sister. For himself, he knew it 
would not be long — at least, not in this world. He had 
no doubt that his end was nigh. 

The prisoners saw signs around them, movements about 
which there was little mystery. Plainly were they prepara- 
tions for a military execution ; and who but they could be 
the intended victims ? 

Had there been any uncertainty, it would have ended 
when they found themselves dragged away from the spot 
they had hitherto occupied, and strapped upright against 
two trees, the lancers, carbine in hand, forming line in 
their front. 


THE HAND OF GOD. 


371 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

THE HAND OF GOD. 

The sun was slowly sinking down toward the summits 
of the Sierra Blanca, his golden beams deepening to a 
redder tint, as if to be in unison with the tragedy soon to 
be enacted unddr their light; for this not only was the 
scene now set, but the characters already on the stage. 

One standing at that crisis on the bluffs that bounded 
the valley of the Alamo, and looking down upon the spot 
where Uraga had pitched his camp, would have been struck 
with the tableau there presented to his view. At a single 
glance he would have seen two men standing with their 
backs to a couple of trees, fastened firmly to their trunks 
wdth rawhide thongs ; in front of them some ten or 
twelve paces off — nine men dressed in the garb of Mexican 
lancers, ranged in single rank, and holding short guns in 
their hands, the man upon the extreme right showing 
upon his sleeve the cheverons of a sergeant. 

Nearer to the bluff, and close to the edge of the timber 
encircling the open space, a conical-shaped canvas tent, 
with two men standing beside it, both in the uniform of 
officers— that of one of them especially splendid, having 
on its shoulder-straps the insignia of a colonel; the other 
but the single bar of a lieutenant. 


372 


THE HAND OF GOD. 


To the right, and farther along the edge of the wood, a 
second tent of oval shape, a small marquee, its entrance- 
flap close shut, with a lancer— long pennoned shaft in 
hand, and carbine slung across his back — standing sentry 
in front of it. 

Half way between the two tents, a group of animals— 
three horses and a mule— all four saddled and bridled, 
slightly attached to the outstretched branches of the trees 
by a loop of their lariats. 

Out upon the open ground, and near to the banks of a 
tiny rivulet that steals silently across it, another and larger 
grouping of animals — ten or a dozen horses, with about 
half the number of mules— the horses also under saddle, 
though unbridled, and browsing in their trail-ropes. 

One other animal form — a human one — completes the 
tableau. A man of dark bronze complexion, wearing a 
coarse woolen jacket, tanned sheepskin trousers, palm- 
plait hat, and rawhide sandals — in short, an Indian peon. 
He is standing, half crouching, behind the tent in front of 
which are the officers. 

Such was the picture that would have been seen by any 
one looking down from the bluff above at that moment, 
when Don Valerian Miranda and his fellow-prisoner were 
about to suffer death, by the decree of a cruel and un- 
relenting enemy. 

The buzzards saw it from the high, projecting perch 
where they had all day been resting. It was now near 
sundown, and still they staid, instead of flying off to their 


THE HAND OF GOD. 


373 


usual night resting-place. Yet there was no noise or tur- 
bulence to tell them of an approaching conflict, with an 
ensanguined field to follow, strewn with corpses — the sight 
most grateful to their eyes. 

Something of this there had been a short half-hour be- 
fore, and then they had flapped their sable wings, stretched 
out their naked, coral-colored necks, and uttered croaks 
of hopeful anticipation. 

The short, exciting scene, with its shouts and angry ex- 
clamations, had passed off without giving them a prey. 
But although complete tranquillity seemed to be restored, 
they still remained, as if the very silence told them that 
the storm would return. 

It was indeed ominous, when coupled with the move- 
ments which the vultures could not avoid observing. Per- 
haps they comprehended their nature, and could predict 
the result. Whether or no, they kept their perch upon the 
rocks, despite the sinking of the sun, whose fast reddening 
rays lent a lurid tint to their sable plumage. 

To those moving about on the plain below the silence 
was equally solemn and impressive. They knew they were 
going to deal death to two of their fellow-creatures, and 
there was not a man among them who did not know that 
it was a death undeserved. 

Pirates and pilferers as they were — robbers in uniform, 
every one of them — all knew, privates as well as officers, 
that they were about to commit an atrocious crime. The 
knowledge, however, did nothing stay them. No throb of 


374 


THE HAND OF GOD. 


mercy or humanity, no thought of fair play or justice, no 
fear or reflection about consequences, could restrain such 
hands as theirs, most of them stained already with blood 
— the blood of their patriotic fellow-countrymen. 

The silence with which every movement was being made 
was in no way mysterious. It was by direction of Uraga, 
who had his reasons. Enraged at his late discomfiture 
and disappointment, ruffian as he was, he might well be 
contented with the retaliatory step he was about to take. 
It might have interrupted his gratification to make Adela 
Miranda a spectator to the execution. Perhaps he would 
have done so, but that he did not choose to trouble him- 
self with a scene, or anything that might cause delay. He 
was in haste to be gone from the spot, so that he might 
elsewhere satisfy a vengeance far more bitterly felt ; for that 
now dooming Valerian Miranda to a felon’s death was not 
by a tenth degree so keenly felt as the black, unquench- 
able hatred he had for the man who had made the ugly 
scar on his cheek — a brand that seemed to burn, pursuing 
him as with the curse of Cain. And now that he knew 
the man not only to be his victor in the field of war, but 
his conqueror in the court of love — now that he had hopes 
of being able to overtake him and obtain revenge — his 
soul, absorbed with this thought, could brook no delay. 

Simply to save time, therefore, he had given orders 
to his men to make their preparations quickly and in 
silence. 

His commands were obeyed to the letter. They who 


THE HAND OF GOD, 


375 

received them knew that an act of disobedience would be 
rewarded by a bullet through the brain. 

Is everything ready, sergeant?” he asked, as the soldier 
in sleeve cheverons appeared at the entrance of his tent. 

“Quite ready,” was the prompt reply; on receiving 
which the lancer colonel stepped outside the tent, followed 
by his adjutant, while the sergeant placed himself on the 
right of the, line. 

“Attention 1” was the command that came from Uraga, 
delivered in a subdued voice, but loud enough to be 
audible to the firing party. 

“ Make ready !” 

The carbines came to the “ready.” 

“ Take aim !” 

The guns were briskly brought to the level ; their barrels 
glistened bronze-red under the setting sun, their muzzles 
pointing to the prisoners. Those who had them in hand 
but waited for the word “ Fire !” 

It came not. Before it could pass from the lips of 
Uraga, his nine lancers lay flat along the grass, their car- 
bines, escaped from their grasp, lying, still loaded, beside 
them. 

It was as if they had been suddenly struck down by a 
thunderbolt, or the hand of God himself. 


376 


A RESCUE, 


CHAPTER LIX. 

A RESCUE. 

The stroke that had laid Uraga’s troopers low, unex- 
pected," and for a moment mysterious, was not a silent 
one. It was accompanied by a volley of shots, though 
the cracks were not those of carbines. 

It was succeeded by a chorus of cries, almost as savage 
as those that might issue from the throats of Comanches, 
along with the swish and crashing of branches, as if a herd 
of buffaloes were breaking their way through the brush- 
wood. 

All these sounds came from the wood, aback of the two 
trees to which the prisoners were attached. And, for a 
time, those who sent them could not be seen. 

Only for a short interval, counting but seconds. Then 
issued from out the shadowed obscurity at least two score 
men — great bearded men, who appeared as giants beside 
the forms that had fallen victims to their death-dealing 
shots. Each carried a rifle that, now empty, was held in 
the left hand, while a bowie-knife, or revolving pistol, was 
cluched by the right. 

The transformation scene of a pantomime could not 
have been quicker than the change from the tableau we 
have just depicted. The eye of a critical spectator might 


A RESCUE. 


377 


have detected something of a parallelism between the 
imaginary stage play and the real drama we are record- 
ing. The gayly costumed lancers, with their plumes and 
pennons, their splendidly uniformed chief and his subor- 
dinate officer, the steeds in elaborate leather caparison, 
might have been likened to the gilded and gorgeous dis- 
play that precedes the transformation, while the sudden 
invasion of men in rough blanket coats, buckskin hunting- 
shirts and leggings, would correspond to the scenes of 
reality coming after it. 

No such comparison occupied the mind of Colonel Gil 
Uraga when he saw the line of men, waiting his command 
to fire, suddenly drop down upon the grass. Wild anger , 
was his first impression, succeeded by a period of stupefac- 
tion. 

It was a brief. The ring of the rifles, which he could 
not mistake for a platoon fire from his own carbines, and 
the shouts that followed, quickly restored him to com- 
prehension; and, although he knew not who were the 
enemies — could not even guess at them — he saw that he 
was surprised. 

He saw, too, that the surprise had been complete— that 
the conflict was over before it had commenced— that resist- 
ance would be idle, and that flight was the only chance 
left to him for keeping his skin whole. 

His adjutant perceived this at the same time, as also the 
lancer who had been left to guard the closed entrance of 
the marquee ; and all three, with but one thought in their 


A RESCUE. 


378 

minds — individual safety — rushed toward the group of 
horses that stood saddled behind the tents. 

The trooper, being first up to the spot, had first choice. 
In a despairing struggle up that ladder that leads between 
life and death, discipline oft gives way, and the colonel 
may be kicked down by the corporal. Imbued with this 
idea, and availing himself of its doctrine, the trooper 
picked the biggest and best horse of the trio, leaving the 
other two to his officers. 

Uraga, with a curse, sprang upon the back of the 
mustang mare leaving Roblez to his own proper mount. 

In half a score of seconds all three were spurring in 
among the trees, and, despite stray bullets whistling past 
their ears, likely enough to escape. 

Two of them did get clear — Uraga and Roblez. The 
trooper was brought to a stand, or, rather, the horse he 
was riding, for he himself, before entering the wood, fell 
headlong among the bushes that skirted it. 

It was a pistol- bullet that produced this eflfect, and he 
who held the weapon in his hand was the foremost of those 
who had charged out of the timber. 

Almost alongside of him was another man, of much 
greater size, and showing equal eagerness to press forward. 

They were Frank Hamersley and Walt Wilder. The 
two were several steps in advance, but Captain Haynes, 
Cully, and others of the rangers were not far behind. 

On first breaking out from the bushes the young Ken- 
tuckian looked anxiously around, but not as if searching 


A RESCUE. 


379 


for an enemy. The expression in his eye was more that 
of a man suffering from keen apprehension. 

Something of a similar kind could be detected in the 
orbs of the hunter. 

An instant after and it was gone, the eyes of both 
sparkling with a supreme joy. Two female figures, rush- 
ing from out the now unguarded tent, were quickly recog- 
nized ; and in a moment after the arms of ihe two men 
were infolded, each around his own, while words and 
kisses were rapidly exchanged. 

All this action, dilatory as its description may seem, did 
not occupy over sixty seconds. The rifle fusillade that had 
swept down the firing party, as with the scythe-blade of 
death, the forward charge of the Texans, the retreat of 
Uraga and Roblez, the two girls rushing forth from the 
tent and falling into the arms of their lovers, were like the 
quick-changing scenes of a dream — a series of transient, 
fleeting apparitions. 

The last was still present before the first had passed out 
of sight, for, while Hamersley yet held his rescued be- 
trothed in his arms, his eye caught sight of the three 
retreating horsemen, and recognized the foremost as Gil 
Uraga. 

A host of memories came crowding upon him — the 
cowardly insult, but half wiped out by the duel at Chihua- 
hua, his despoliation, the death of his faithful employees 
and companions, whose blood, spilled upon the sandy 
plain, seemed to cry to him for atonement, the injury done 


380 


A RESCUE. 


to a dear friend, that attempted and almost carried out 
against one still dearer — against her whose white arms 
were now around his neck — all these injuries coming into 
his mind, and before his eyes the author of them hasten- 
ing to make his escape, he could not go unpursued. 

Rapidly withdrawing his arms from the tender embrace, 
Hamersley faced toward the trio of retreating horsemen. 
He was too late to take aim at the foremost, but a flash of 
intuitive or instinctive thought told him to fire at the hind- 
most, who chanced to be the sentry riding off on his own 
horse. 

In another instant the trooper dropped dead among the 
bushes, while the horse, released from guidance, came 
trotting in between the tents. 

Hamersley, springing toward him, caught hold of the 
bridle, at the same time whispering a word in his ear that 
brought back recollections, acknowledged by a loud neigh, 
and then by an almost continuous whimpering expressive 
of joy. 

“Do not go, Francisco,” exclaimed Adela, as she saw 
him preparing to spring into the saddle, and divining his 
intention. “Oh, do not go! Let the wretch escape. 
He is not worthy of your vengeance.” 

“Dearest Adela, it is not vengeance, but justice. I 
parted from you once before to pursue him. Urged by 
the same thought, I must go again. Do not stay me. Be 
assured that this time I shall be more successful. Some- 
thing tells me it is my destiny to bring to punishment 


A RESCUE. 381 

this detestable criminal — perhaps the greatest on earth. / 
must go r 

“There’s two on ’em, Frank, two ter one agin ye, an’ 
no anymal for me to go ’long wi’ ye. Thar’s the rangers 
goin’ for thar cutters, but they won’t get them in time. 
I’ll jump this ole mule hyar as has been rud by Con- 
cheeter, an’ see what I kin do.” 

“No, Walt; you stay and take care of Conchita, with 
my dear Adela. What if there are two of them, or a 
dozen ? See, dearest, your brother is calling for you. Go 
to him. A kiss. Adieu !” 

Suddenly snatching the kiss, and tearing himself away 
from the arms so reluctant to let him go, he leaped into 
the saddle, and, in a few bounds of his horse, was lost 
among the trees. 

Walt, making over the charge that had been intrusted to 
him to one of his old ranger comrades, mounted the mule 
and rode after; but the disproportion between the small 
quadruped and its colossal rider made it very improbable 
he would be in time to render succor to the impetuous 
Kentuckian. 

Soon after, several rangers followed, having caught anS 
bitted the troopers’ horses, their own having been left in 
the woods too far behind to be available for the chase. 

The rest remained upon the ground, spectators of a 
tender scene between the man who had been so unexpect- 
edly rescued— snatched from the very jaws of death— and 
the sister, whose noble affection had prompted her to share 
death with him rather than submit to dishonor. 


382 


THE CHASE. 


CHAPTER LX. 

THE CHASE. 

By the time Hamersley had got his steed fairly astretch, 
the fugitives were out of sight, though yet only a few hun- 
dred yards ahead; for the scenes and speeches recorded 
had only occupied a few seconds. It was only the -^^creen 
of the timber that concealed the two men who were 
retreating from him. 

He felt confident of being able to overtake them. He 
knew his pure-blooded Kentucky hunter was more than a 
match for any Mexican horse, and could soon come up 
with the mustang mare and the other. If they should 
separate, he would of course follow the former. 

As he rode on he saw they would not go far apart. There 
was a sheer precipice on each side — the bluffs that bounded 
the creek-bottom. These would keep them together, and 
he would have both to deal with in an encounter. 

The ground was such that they could not well escape 
him, except by superior speed. He could see the cliffs on 
each side to their bases. There was not enough under- 
wood for a horseman to hide in. He hastened on, there- 
confident that he still had them before him. 
ten minutes more he was quite sure of it— they were 
ir ^ht. 


THE CHASE. 


383 


The timber-tract, through which the chase had hitherto 
led, abruptly terminated, a long, grassy meadow of over a 
mile in length lying beyond, and beyond this the trees 
again obstructed the vista up the valley. 

The retreating horsemen had entered upon this meadow- 
land, but had not gone far over it, when Hamersley spurred 
his horse out of the trees behind them ; and now pursuer 
and pursued were in full view of each other. It was now 
a tail-on-end chase, all three horses going at the greatest 
speed t^ which their riders could press them. 

It was soon evident to all three that the large American 
horse was rapidly gaining upon the Mexican mustangs, 
and if no accident should arise, he would soon be on their 
heels or alongside them. 

Hamersley clearly perceived this, and casting a glance 
ahead, appeared to calculate the distance to where the 
timber again commenced. To overtake them before they 
could reach it was the thought that was uppermost in his 
mind. Once among the tree-trunks, they could go as fast 
as he, for there the superior fleetness of his horse would 
not count. Besides, there might be thick underwood to 
give them a place of concealment. 

He must come up with them before they could reach 
the cover, and to this end he once more pressed his ani- 
mal, both with spur and speech. At this moment the 
pursued men, looking behind them, saw that there wa**- 
but one in chase of them. There was now a long str. •' 
of the open plain in his rear, and no other pursuer v i 


384 


THE CHASE. 


it. Brigand though he was, Roblez was a man of real 
courage, though his colonel was not. At bottom, Uraga 
was a coward. Still there were two of them, in full health 
and strength, both carrying swords, and Roblez a pair of 
dragoon pistols in his holsters. Those belonging to Uraga 
were nearer to the hand of Hamersley, having been left in 
the saddle, which the robber, in his hasty retreat, had been 
hindered from occupying. 

“ Courage !’" cried Roblez; ** there’s but one of them 
after us. The others have not had time to get mounted, 
and won’t be up for awhile. It’s some rash fool, who’s 
got your horse from Galvez. Let’s turn upon him, 
colonel 

The coward, thus appealed to, could not protest, and in 
one instant the two wrenched their horses round, and with 
blades bared, awaited the approach of the pursuer. 

In a dozen more strides of his great horse he was on the 
ground, and Uraga now recognized him — his antagonist 
in the Chihuahua duel, the man he hated above all others 
on earth. 

This hate, however, intense as it was, did not at that 
moment give him any grand courage. In the eye of 
Hamersley, as he came close, Uraga saw the terrible ex- 
pression of the avenger. Something whispered to him that 
his hour was come ; and it was with a sinking heart, and 
an arm half-palsied by despair, that he awaited the en- 
counter. 

As already said, the two Mexican officers carried swords 


THE CHASE. 


385 


— cavalry sabers — and against these the Kentuckian had no 
weapon for parry or defense. He was but poorly armed 
for the unequal combat, having only a bowie-knife, a Colt’s 
revolver with one chamber already emptied, and, as a last 
resort, the single-barreled dragoon pistol in the holsters. 

Quickly perceiving his disadvantage, he checked up his 
horse before coming too close, and with the revolver took 
aim at the nearest of his enemies, which was Roblez. The 
shot told, tumbling the lancer lieutenant out of his saddle, 
and making more equal the chances of the fight. 

But there was no more fight — not the show of it ; for 
Uraga, on seeing his comrade fe,ll, and once more catching 
sight of that avenging glance, that glared upon him as if 
direct from the eye of Nemesis, wrenched the mustang 
around, and rode off in wildest retreat, his sword, held 
loosely, almost dropping from his grasp. 

Soon it did drop ; for Hamersley, following in close pur- 
suit, fired a second shot from the revolver. The bullet 
struck the extended sword-arm, and the naked blade 
whirled out, and fell with a ring upon the meadow-turf. 

Uraga rode on without looking back. He had not even 
the courage to face toward his enemy. He thought only 
of getting to the timber, in a despairing hope of there 
finding concealment. 

It was not his destiny to reach it The avenger was too 
close upon his heels, the head of his horse swept by the 
mustang’s tail, with its long, white strands spread comet- 
like behind. 


THE CHASE. 


3«6 

Once more Hamersley’s revolver was raised, the muzzle 
pointed at the spine of the fleeing coward. The pulling 
of a trigger would have sent the bullet into his back. But 
it was not pulled. Whether from whim, pity, or some 
other motive, the pursuer quietly transferred the pistol to 
his left hand, and then forcing his horse into a long leap 
forward, he laid hold of the lancer colonel with his right, 
grasping him by his waist sword-belt, and jerking him out 
of the saddle, flung him with a violent eflbrt to the earth. 
Then reining up, with the revolver once more grasped in 
his right hand, he cried out : 

“Lie there, you ruffian, and keep still. I have several 
shots to spare, and if you attempt to stir, one of them 
will greet you.” 

The admonition was not needed. Uraga, stunned by 
the fall, for a time made no movement. Before he had 
come to himself, the rangers had ridden up, with Walt 
Wilder on the Mexican mule, and made prisoners of the 
two wounded men, neither having been killed in the en- 
counter. 

Better for them if they had ; for they were now in the 
hands of those who had already doomed them to death. 
Their fate was inevitable. 


A NEW MODE OF HANGING, 


3S7 


CHAPTER LXI. 

A NEW MODE OF HANGING. 

The sun had not yet gone down, though his rays had 
assumed a ruddier hue as they lingered over the camp- 
ground, now stained with human blood. The buzzards 
still kept their station upon the cliff, nor showed sign of 
leaving for the night. Now sure of a banquet, they would 
stay there till morning. 

The pursuing party had returned with their prisoners, 
who lay upon the ground, encircled by the rangers, who 
seemed to hold consultation. 

Hamersley was not among them, or taking any part in 
their proceedings. He was inside the marquee, with com- 
pany more congenial. By his side was Adela; Colonel 
Miranda and the doctor reclining near, but no longer in 
bonds. Conchita was moving out and in, at intervals com- 
municating with her gigantic lover, who, having business 
with his old friends, the rangers, could not give her the 
whole of his time. 

The party inside the tent, if not jubilant, were at least 
happy. Their sudden and unexpected delivery, from what 
had so late appeared certain death to some of them, could 
yet scarcely be realized. It was like being suddenly 


388 A NEW MODE OF HANGING. 

awakened from some horrid dream, its horrors still hover- 
ing around them. 

As they continued to converse, exchanging narrations 
and explanations, the dark shadows gradually dissipated, 
and their thoughts became restored to their natural chan- 
nel. Those of the young Kentuckian now coursed in the 
sweetest of all currents ; for upon his breast lay confidingly 
a beautiful head, with a soft arm resting upon his shoulder, 
while into his eyes gleamed other eyes overflowing with 
love and gratitude. There was no false modesty or reserve, 
even in the presence of a brother, since that close prox- 
imity had already been sanctioned by his consent, and was 
now more than ever acceptable. 

Inside the tent it was a tableau of love, wreathed with 
fraternal affection. 

Far different was the scene transpiring outside — a pic- 
ture of passions the very reverse. There a new tragedy was 
about to be enacted, and the stage was being set for it. 

“Well, boys, what are we to do with them? Shoot or 
hang?” 

The interrogatory came from Captain Haynes, of the 
rangers. It is scarcely necessary to explain its import, or 
to say that it referred to the two prisoners just captured. 

“Hang!” was the response, emphatically spoken by 
more than a score of voices. 

“Shootings too good for skunks sech as them,” was 
the commentary added by the man in the blue blanket- 
coat. 


A NEW MODE OF HANGING. 389 

“They oughter be scalped, an’ quartered, too,” ap- 
pended Cully. 

“A leetle torter wouldn’t do no harm,” suggested a 
still more severe speaker. “ Durn ’em, they desarve it.” 

“No, no,” said the ranger captain. “Enough if we 
string them up. Well, I suppose that’s agreed to? You 
all say hang?” 

“Hang!” came the wild word again, issuing simul- 
taneously from every throat and unanimously, not a single 
voice dissenting. 

“Get the traps ready, then,” directed Captain Haynes. 
“You, Cully — ^you and Walt Wilder look around and see 
where’s the best place.” 

“Thar’s a pick place,” suggested Walt; “them air two 
trees, whar they hed thur victims strapped up for the 
shootin’. Thar’s a branch for both o’ ’em, so as they 
needn’t be crowded in makin’ tracks torst etarnity. I 
reck’n them limbs air high enuf. What d’ye say, Nat 
Cully?” 

“Jest the thing,” responded Cully; “kedn’t be better 
ef the sheriff o’ Pike County, Missoury, had rigged it up 
for a gallis. Hyar, fellers ; look out a kupple o’ trail- 
ropes, an’ fetch ’em up.” 

The trail-ropes were soon forthcoming, and flung over 
the two limbs that stretched horizontally out from the trees 
to which Miranda and Don Prospero had lately been lashed. 
There needed no eye to be formed for the running noose 
— the iron rings of the lassos furnished these ; and in less 


A NEW MODE OF HANGING. 


390 

than ten minutes everything was ready for carrying Judge 
Lynch '*s sentence into execution. 

“ Who’s to haul up?” was the next question asked. 

A score of men sprang forward, crying out, with one 
accord: I will.” 

In fact, every man upon the ground seemed willing to 
take hand in this duty, which, under other circumstances, 
would have been to most of them not only disagreeable, 
but disgusting. 

The tales they had heard of atrocities committed by the 
prisoners, the clear evidence of them in their possession, 
had made a profound impression upon the minds of the 
rangers, who, although themselves rough men and but little 
troubled by delicate sensibilities, were nevertheless true to 
the common instincts of humanity. And these instincts 
now stirred them to what they looked upon ax only a just 
retribution of crime, with no motive of mere personal 
revenge. Walt Wilder might have been an exception to 
this, by recalling the slaughter of his comrades of the 
caravan, and still more Hamersley. But the latter was 
inside the tent, taking no part either in the trial or exe- 
cution. Nor did Miranda or the doctor show any sign 
of interest in it, notwithstanding the persecution they had 
suffered from the common enemy. They could not help 
knowing what was going on without, but they knew also 
they were not wanted. 

* ‘ Boys, ” said Cully, seeing so many volunteers before 
him, *‘thar ’pears no stint o’ hangmen ’mong ye; but I 


A NEW MODE OF HANGING. 


391 


reck’n I must disappoint ye all. These Mexikin skunks 
don’t desarve to be hoisted up to etarnity by a free-born 
citizen o’ the Lone Star State. It would be a disgrace to 
Texin to be the hanger o’ either o' ’em. ” 

‘‘What would you do.? Somebody must pull them up.’ 

“ Tain’t needcessaiy, They can be strung up ’thout air 
a hand techin’ trail-rope.” 

“ How— how?” 

“Wal, thar’s a way I heern they sometimes use them- 
selves. Jest fotch up them two ole mules wi’ the pack- 
saddles on ’em, an’ this chile’ll instruk ye how. Ye ken 
take off the saddles; them ain’t needed.” 

Three or four men hastened to execute the order, and 
the mules were soon led up and stripped of their saddles. 

“Now, conduct hyar the krimnals,” was the next com- 
mand from Cully, who, by general consent, was acting as 
master of the ceremonies. 

The prisoners were brought upon the ground, half-led. 
half-dragged. Neither spoke a word, or even by look 
made any appeal for mercy. They knew it would have 
been idle. There was not a countenance around them but 
told this, as plainly as if proclaimed in the most emphatic 
speech. Their uniforms were torn and stained with blood. 
They looked like a brace of wolves taken in a trap — 
Roblez like the big American wolf, savage but not yield- 
ing ; Uraga cowed and trembling like a coyote. 

‘ ‘ Mount 'em on the mules ! was the next order from 
Cully. 


392 


A NEW MODE OF HANGING. 


It was instantly obeyed, and the two men were set astride 
of the hybrids. 

‘‘Now fix the snares roun' thar thropples, an’ make the 
other ends fast to the limbs overhead. Draw ’em jest tight, 
’thout stretchin’.” 

The directions were carried out, and the criminals were 
now seated on the mules, each with a noose around his 
neck, the rope to which it belonged carried taut up to the 
branches above, and there made fast by several warpings. 

“Now, Walt, I reck’n you an’ me kin spring the trap. 
Air yur pistol loaded ?” 

“It air.” 

“ Wal, you take the right-hand critter; I’ll take the left 
’un. When I gie the word, let crack — rite inter the anny- 
mul’s gullet. You know whar.” 

“All right, ole boss.” 

There was a short interval of silence, but it was a silence 
profound — such as always precedes the falling of the drop 
on the scaffold of the gallows. The chirrup of a tree- 
cricket or the rustling of a leaf would have been a loud 
noise at that instant. So ominous was the stillness, the 
vultures that had once more alighted on the cliff craned 
out their naked necks, as if to inquire the cause. They 
started on hearing a voice from below cry out the word 
“Shoot!” It came like a sharp scream, causing most of 
them to take wing ; the others followed, as they heard two 
cracks rising from the same direction. 

They were pistol-shots that had been fired with fatal 


A NEW MODE OF HANGING. 


393 


aim. When the smoke cleared off, two mules were seen 
lying dead upon the ground, and over each the body of a 
man, with a rope around his neck, swinging to the branch 
of a tree, a slight tremor in his frame and a convulsive 
movement of the limbs showing him to be in the last 
throes of asphyxia — by hanging. 


394 


WHAT CAME AFTER. 


CHAPTER LXII. 

WHAT CAME AFTER. 

This last act in our drama has been recorded — the last 
that may be deemed worthy of detail. 

After so many episodes of an exciting and sanguinary 
character, the succeeding tranquil scenes would appear 
tame, though it may interest the reader to have a brief 
epitome of them. 

Of the characters killed upon the stage, he will not care 
to know more. They are dead, and cannot be resusci- 
tated, even if deserving it, which none of them do; for, 
in this tragic tale, Nemesis, in dealing out vengeance and 
death, allied herself with Justice. The fallen deserved 
their fate, all but the unfortunate victims of the caravan 
attack, and the rangers, who had succumbed to Tenawa 
spears and shafts; but as they, like the supernumeraries 
of a theater, lived nameless, and died unknown, their 
death may stir our sympathies without appealing to the 
depths of sorrow. 

The reader, as we have said, may desire to know some- 
thing of the after history of those who survived, which 
was not without vicissitudes and chapters of an interesting 
nature, although not of a character sufficiently exciting to 


WHAT CAME AFTER. 


395 


serve for the pages of a modern romance that rigorously 
exacts the sensational. 

It would scarcely give him a sensation to tell that Colonel 
Miranda, with his sister, Don Prospero, and the Indian 
damsel, Conchita, accompanied the young Kentuckian 
and Walt Wilder in their return across the plains, Captain 
Haynes and his rangers forming their rough but gallant 
escort as far as Nacogdoches, over the eastern border of 
Texas, when Walt Wilder bade a characteristic adieu to 
his old roving comrades. 

And it would be tame to relate how they afterward pro- 
ceeded on to Natchitoches, and then took steamboat to 
the mouth of Red River, though to Frank Hamersley and 
Walt Wilder it might have been very pleasant to reflect 
that upon one of the remote sources of the same stream 
each had found what Byron so vainly longed for : 

“A desert for a dwelling-place, 

With one fair spririt for his minister.” 

A marriage scene, or ceremony, will always have a cer- 
tain interest — especially for the fair sex — but it is rare that 
this rises to the sensational, except on the isle of Man- 
hattan. 

Still, that occurring in a country church, in the “blue- 
grass'’ district of Kentucky, where Frank Hamersley stood 
before the altar, was not without some notable features, 
fairly deserving of record. That the bluest blood of the 
blue-grass country assisted at the ceremony is an ordinary 
chronicle ; but it is not every day that three couples take 


396 


WHAT CAME AFTER. 


Hymen’s oath at the same time, which on this occasion 
there did. 

Frank Hamersley made the usual vow to protect his 
beautiful Adela, while his colossal comrade, Walt Wilder, 
swore in the same strain as regarded Conchita, and had 
the clergyman not stopped him, would have added some 
unique asseverations of his own to strengthen or clinch 
his promise of fidelity. 

The reader, expecting only a double marriage, has been 
told that it was triple^ and will be inquiring who were the 
other two devotees at the hymeneal throne. One was a 
handsome man, of dark complexion and Spanish features, 
bearing a marked likeness to the'-bride of Hamersley ; and 
no wonder, since he was her brother. Nor was it any 
greater wonder that the tall, fair girl by his side — on whose 
finger he shortly after slipped a ring — bore an equally 
striking resemblance to Hamersley himself— being his 
sister. 

Thus had it come about. If the conquest of the Mex- 
ican maiden over Hamersley’s heart had been quick — 
almost instantaneous — not less so was that of the Ken- 
tucky girl over the affections of Valerian Miranda. On 
each side there was an equitable retaliation. 

♦ ♦ ★ ♦ :«c 

When we again saw these three couples together, it was 
far away from the blue-grass country of Kentucky, though 
still within the territoiy of the United States. They were 


WHAT CAME AFTER. 


397 


Standing upon the roof of a splendid mansion that over- 
looked the town of Albuquerque. 

All six seemed as happy, if this could well be, as when 
arrayed in bridal robes at the altar of the Kentucky 
church ; for Don Valerian Miranda, from his roof, could 
look over broad leagues — not acres — that were his own 
now far surer that a star-bespangled flag waved over them 
instead of that exhibiting the Mexican colors, while Frank 
Hamersley saw upon the plain below a caravan of wagons, 
his own, laden with rich goods, no longer in danger of 
being overtaxed by a despotic governor, or despoiled by 
prairie freebooters, whether real Indians or counterfeit. 

It was, indeed, a happy reunion on the roof of that New 
Mexican house, and the evening sun, from an unclouded 
sky, reflected its mellowed light upon cheerful and friendly 
faces — none more cheerful or friendly than that of Don 
Prospero, who was one of the number. 

The dear old doctor had been rewarded for his devotion 
both to friendship and freedom His native land had lost 
its nationality, a loss the true patriot will never lament, 
when liberty is the gain. It is only the petty partisan who 
cares to prop up a despotic independence. Don Prospero 
was not of this kind. On the contrary, he triumphed in 
the event that had transferred his native province from the 
weak pilferers who had hitherto habitually plundered it, 
to the strong protecting power, whose flag now waved 
over it. 

Without fear of interruption, he could now call upon 


WHAT CAME AFTER. 


398 

Adela— and did— to attune her voice and guitar to that 
patriotic strain so rudely interrupted in the Lone Ranch. 


THE END. 










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